Misc OneShots
by HardyBoyz4Eva
Summary: Slash. A series of unrelated one-shots based off of one-word prompt requests.
1. RandyCodyTed 'Punished'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Dom/sub, Toys, Punishment, etc.

* * *

In the world of Randy Orton, life was either entirely black or entirely white. As far as he was concerned, there was no time where the two should ever cross. The betrayal of his two boys, Cody and Ted, fit into that continuum.

Cody and Ted had deemed themselves 'above' their master and had decided to reveal to the WWE Universe that Randy 'abused' them. Randy was fairly certain that if what he did was considered abuse, than Cody and Ted were sadists. They loved every minute where their master brutally claimed them. Sometimes, they even went so far as to act in a way that would warrant a firm hand of discipline from Randy. And he was abusive? To hell with that!

As soon as they entered the locker room, Cody and Ted could tell that they had crossed the metaphorical line. Normally, Randy would be waiting for them, fresh out of his shower and dripping with murky, luscious beads of soap-water. However, Randy was nowhere to be seen. Ted shot a look at the smaller brunette, who decided to just shake off the sense of unfamiliarity and make himself ready to head back to the hotel room.

"Hey, baby-boy?" Ted asked as he raised the shirt off over his head and tossed it into his bag. "You don't think that Randy was actually offended by what we said out there, do you?"

Cody rolled his eyes. "If he was, then the man needs a thicker skin. Really. I mean, it's only a storyline. He knows that we don't really think like that." But then, he hesitated for a minute. "He does know that, doesn't he?"

"I don't know. That's why I asked you." There was a hint of fear in Ted's voice. "But, really, it can't be all that bad. I mean, his match earlier went well. That should make him feel better."

Cody blinked at him slowly. "Yeah, but that was only after Wade Barrett landed a cheap shot to his back and had him limping back to the locker room. Face it, Teddy. We're screwed."

Ted worried his bottom lip. "Literally."

Over the next few minutes, an awkward silence floated between the two men. All of the different semi-erotic, semi-painful possibilities floated in and out of their minds. Randy could be merciless when he wanted to be, and in a situation like this, both men doubted that he would be showing the laid-back nature that they knew and loved. No, they knew that this would be a brutal, forceful fuck. And, secretly, they would love every minute of it.

Both men decided to opt out of their showers. If they took the time to shower, that would mean that Randy's need to punish them would remain unfulfilled for that much longer (and their need to be punished would remain unsatisfied as well). So, they hurried out to Ted's rental car and threw all of the stuff into the trunk. Without wasting any time, they clambered inside and started the ten minute drive back to the hotel.

"Sometimes, I think that Randy really overreacts to this stuff." Cody whined. "We didn't mean it."

Ted shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. "Did you mean to get drunk and kiss Batista at the Christmas party? No. But it _was_ within your power to say no to the drink."

Cody looked at him, adorable confusion etched on his pretty-boy face. "What the hell does that have to do with this?"

"Randy sees it as a betrayal and he has to handle it as such." Ted clarified.

"I can remember my one art teacher told me that there were over fifty shades of gray. It makes you wonder why Randy chooses to see only in black and white, and not to notice all of the shady stuff in the middle."

Ted looked at Cody as if he had obtained a third head. "First of all, numbskull, _Fifty Shades of Gray_ is an erotic fantasy book. There are a _lot_ more than fifty different shades of gray."

"Maybe we should buy that for Randy for Christmas." Cody offered nonchalantly.

"What? So Randy can get in touch with his inner Anastasia? Do you realize how many shades of _blue_ our asses would be if we bought that for him?"

"It was only a suggestion." Cody raised his hands innocently.

"A damn stupid suggestion."

Neither man realized that their bickering had caused the ten minute drive back to the hotel to fly by in the blink of an eye. By the time they realized that they had arrived, Ted had already pulled into one of the spots in front of the hotel and had cut the engine. Hesitantly, both men climbed out of the car and started to head toward the front door. They steeled their emotions to take any kind of surprise or punishment that waited for them.

"Are you ready for this, Cody?" Ted shot his younger lover a look.

The American Nightmare swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah. I think I am. What about you?"

Ted took a deep breath and nodded as well. "Let's do this."

* * *

Randy held the belt in his hand, leather folded over leather to form a tight, controlled whip. The metal clasp was in the ideal position to cause the optimum sting. Slowly, Randy smacked the belt against his hand. Once. Twice. Three times. As he did this, he circled around the bed. His icy blue eyes scanned over the trembling bodies of his two babies, both of which were handcuffed to the bed with their asses in the air.

First was Ted. Randy always liked to be a little more violent with Ted, mostly because he knew that the bigger blond could take it. His was built to endure the stress, to go that extra mile. Randy ordered him to count each hit as the belt came down on his rounded bottom, hitting the tender under curve of his ass every time. The loud, somewhat seductive slap of the leather on his untainted skin echoed in the silence. Fifty smacks and his debt was paid.

Cody was already trembling with fear, tears streaking down his pretty face as he saw the damage to Ted's ass out of the corner of his eye. The poor man looked like a lawnmower had run over his ass! Randy circled around the bed and Cody steeled himself for the impact, but it never came. The anticipation built in his chest, almost like he was waiting for an explosion that didn't seem like it wanted to come. But then, Randy took his hair and tilted his head back.

"Do you think that I'm gonna hurt you, Cody?" Randy hissed. He almost sounded offended by the idea, but Cody couldn't tell for sure. All he knew was that the tears continued to fall and he couldn't stop them.

"N-No. You'd never hurt me." Cody forced the words out. It wasn't that he didn't believe them, but that it was so difficult to talk around the sobs that were building in his chest.

"Then, don't cry. Don't act like I'd ever raise a hand to you to hurt you, because you know that I would never do that. Just relax and it won't hurt as much." Randy instructed him.

"B-But…" Cody choked out. He was terribly embarrassed, but afraid at the same time.

"Relax." Randy softly shushed him. It was only after he relaxed that he landed the first strike.

Randy was swift with his torture, but he made sure that Cody would feel it for several days. Unlike with Ted, he didn't focus on one area in particular. Instead, he did twenty strokes that even started to snake their way up Cody's back. Cody was crying out in the end, knowing that he had disappointed his master and knowing that this wasn't supposed to be pleasurable, and it wasn't. In fact, he couldn't wait until it was over and he had earned Randy's forgiveness.

Once the belt was thrown aside, both submissives breathed a sigh of relief. But Randy was far from done with them. Crawling over to Ted, he uncuffed him from the bed (but kept his wrists handcuffed together) and pushed him down onto his stomach. Once there, he took pre-lubed anal beads and slowly started to slide them into Ted's unprepared entrance. Ted moaned at the uncomfortable intrusion, feeling himself start to stretch unwillingly.

When the beads were all inside of him, Randy moved Ted over so that he sat on Cody's chest, his fat, pulsing erection mere inches away from the boy's mouth. Situating a cock ring onto Cody's cock, he pushed Ted forward and watched as Cody took the entire girth into his mouth at once. And then, with no lube and no preparation, he slid home inside of Cody. He could almost feel his beautiful baby start to burn and tear.

Cody let Ted's cock fall out of his mouth. "Fuck, Randy! That hurts!" But Randy only continued to ease himself in until he was all the way inside, and then, ever so slowly, started to draw himself out. "Fuck!"

"Don't lie to yourself, Cody. Embrace the pain. You like it when I fuck you like this, don't you? Especially when Teddy fucks your pretty little face?" Randy talked him through the pain until his thrusts became a little easier.

After a few minutes, Randy started to move faster. He used Cody's body, watching as the petite brunette thrust this way and that to try and avoid the perfect build-up of sensations in the pit of his stomach. The sensations that couldn't be released because of that damn cock ring. Randy came first, pumping into Cody as Cody's channel clamped down around him so beautifully. He pulled out a minute later and watched as his cum slowly oozed out of Cody's hole.

Rolling out of the scene, Randy took hold of the end of the string of beads and slowly started to pull them out of Ted's ass. That was the end for Ted. He came, spurt after spurt filling Cody's mouth. Cody swallowed every last bit of it, not letting a bit of it be wasted. And then, after a few sharp strokes to Cody's cock, Randy took the cock ring off and let his boy finish with absolutely no stimulation whatsoever.

As they all came down from their highs, Ted and Cody each rolled over and curled into Randy's side. "Are you still mad at us, or are we forgiven?" Ted asked breathlessly.

"You both were excellent. You're forgiven." Randy told him as he kissed both of their shoulders. "I love you. Both of you."

Ted and Cody smiled. "We love you too."

And they all fell off into peaceful slumber, comforted in the arms of their lovers.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so here is the deal. This story will be on request only. To put in a request for a new chapter, you put in a 'one-word' prompt (for example, this one was 'punishment') and a pairing. Sound like a deal? I'd love to hear your suggestions!**


	2. DavidDarren 'Oil'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Sheamus Bashing, Massages, etc.  
**Dedication:** FreshAdobo

* * *

Darren's entire body seemed to radiate an electric heat that crawled underneath his skin. He couldn't stay still and he couldn't seem to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off of his face. After all, he _was_ worth 'Millions of Dollars'. And he had shown the entire world just that when he had walked out there and owned that match with Primo.

Still, Darren couldn't help but feel as if Creative just… well, didn't _like_ him. And that was okay. He wasn't in the WWE so that he could be liked. He was in the WWE to make a name for himself, and he had shown the world that he deserved to be a member of the SmackDown roster, that he deserved to be a member of the WWE roster. But still, sometimes, he couldn't help but think of the WWE like a madhouse. There certainly were a lot of crazies around here.

Take, for example, the monster Kane and his partner, the ever egocentric Daniel Bryan. He still didn't understand how such a dysfunctional team had pulled off a win and yanked the comfy-cozy comfort blanket out from underneath them, but they had. However, Darren wasn't one to focus on the past (unlike Titus, who was still stewing over the loss). He needed to focus on his future, and maybe that was in one-on-one competition.

Another example would be that Irish brute, Sheamus. Darren had been an unfortunate bystander to one unneeded and uncalled for Brogue Kick to David Otunga, and had also been a first-hand witness to the pain and trauma that it caused him. Darren looked down at his watch. It was 7:35 PM. His eyes flickered over to the floor number on the elevator. Three more floors until he was back with his lover, safe from all the lunatics in the WWE.

Two more floors. A mother with a snot-faced child pushed past him as the elevator doors opened, allowing them out. The child didn't hesitate to wipe her little germ-infested hands all over him. Darren shuddered at the idea of whatever Typhoid Mary could be carrying. One more floor. The door opened and a small old lady entered. Finally, it came to Darren's floor. Before the doors were even all the way open, he was out into the hall and fumbling with his key.

"I'm back!" Darren called out as he stumbled inside. As soon as the warm, musky scent of his lover hit him, he realized how truly exhausted he was. "David? Where are you?"

"I'm in the bathtub!" David replied. His voice was slurred, almost like he was drunk. However, since he couldn't mix alcohol with his pain medication, Darren credited it to sleep.

Darren took a small bottle out of his bag and slid it into his back pocket. And then, with a smile, he slid into the bathroom. "Did you miss me?"

David turned to him carefully. "And what if I didn't?"

"How could you not miss me? I'm the sexiest man to come to the WWE since… well, actually, _ever_. You'd have to be blind not to realize that." Darren told him cockily.

David rolled his eyes. "You're too full of yourself."

"And you're not, Mr. Harvard-Educated-Lawyer?" Darren raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, at least I have the brains to back-up the brawn." David stared at him, as if this were totally obvious.

Darren 'tsked'. "Keep making comments like that and I won't give you the surprise that I planned out for you. It took me all day to finish it, too." Darren tried to look insulted, but failed miserably.

"Surprise?" David asked. He tried to seem uninterested, but he was doing about as well as Darren at trying to look insulted. After a moment, both broke down into fits of hard laugher. "Stop. Stop. My neck hurts."

Darren immediately calmed himself down. "That damn brute certainly did a number on you, didn't he? Booker T should have never lifted that ban."

David didn't comment. He just took a slow, calming breath and tried to steady his heartbeat. He had learned over the years that pain was inevitable, but it was how you _handled_ the pain that really mattered. Extending his hand out, he waited for a few minutes as Darren fixed him his medical cocktail. One Morphine and two Tylenols would make him numb for awhile, one would think. But he could only take so many in an hour and by then, the pain was unbearable.

Once David had taken his medication, a comfortable silence fell over the two men. Darren decided that now would be the time to put his plan into action. He took the vial out of his back pocket and set it down on the floor beside the bathtub. And then, stripping out of his clothes and throwing them down onto the floor, he walked over to the tub. David looked at him with half-lidded eyes, almost about to pass out but curious as to Darren's intentions.

Darren set a hand between David's shoulders and instructed him to lean forward. "Slide forward a little bit so that I can climb in too." Darren said.

"Is this some kind of new kink now? You knock me out and _then_ have sex with me. I must say, it's kind of dirty. However, I would be fully welcoming totally conscious as well." David slurred.

"That wasn't my intention, no." Darren shot him down.

David's eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to think. "Then what _are_ you doing?"

Darren slicked his hands with the oil and made sure it was nice and warm, before he started to work it into David's shoulders and neck. "I'm giving you a massage, numbskull."

"Hey, don't insult me. I'm injured." David mumbled. His head rolled back and he rested it on Darren's shoulder.

"Yes, you are. I will be having a few words with Sheamus about that." Darren hissed out in frustration.

David looked at him out of half-lidded eyes. "Words or fists?"

Darren couldn't help but smirk. "Maybe a little bit of both. I don't really know for sure. I just don't like the fact that he thinks he can walk around, kicking people's heads off for no reason."

"Don't worry about it. Eventually, everyone has to own up to their crimes. It's the way that the US Justice System works." David slipped right into legal mode, even half-dead in Darren's arms.

This time, Darren was silent. Slowly, he worked his calloused hands over every inch of David's back. The strong, tight muscles were littered with thick knots. Darren worked the oil into David's skin. The rich smell of salt, earth, chamomile, and lavender all blended into one and made David melt into Darren's arms. Shit, he hadn't been this relaxed since they sedated him for the MRI.

And then, if only to make the world just a little bit better, the oil started to warm his skin. Darren blew on it, causing small tremors to float down David's back and the lawyer shivered, letting out a guttural moan as he slid down lower into the water. Once all of the muscles in his back were loose, Darren scaled upward and bit and started to work on the base of David's neck. David, still butter in Darren's hands, tensed when Darren hit an overly sensitive nerve.

"You okay down there? Did I hurt you?" Darren asked, worried.

"'M fine." David moaned. He readjusted himself in the water and all at once, Darren could see what the _real_ problem was. David's erection stood tall in the warm water, jerking every time Darren touched that bundle of nerves.

"Do you like it when I touch you there?" Darren smirked.

Otunga moaned as he moved around to make himself more comfortable. "Mmm… fuck yeah."

Darren smirked. The very basis of his idea had finally come to a head. Leaning back, he shifted them around so that David was lying on Darren's stomach. And then, with his left hand, he snaked over David's body and took hold of his firm, leaking cock. With one sharp, meaningful pull, he caused a delighted shiver to chase down David's spine and the lawyer's entire body convulsed. Perfect.

Darren kissed the crown of the smaller man's head and started to move his hand faster, twisted it over the head and running his thumb over the slit. Faster. Harder. David's body convulsed so beautifully in front of him. Darren worked his mouth down so that it bumped into the junction between David's neck and his shoulder. A finger tentatively brushed against that sensitive bundle of nerves and, all of a sudden, David came.

"How was that? You feel better now?" Darren asked softly.

David nodded carefully. He felt like all of the bones in his body had turned to liquid. "Much, much better."

"Before you know it, you'll be back to one-hundred percent. And then, you can sue Sheamus until he's blue in the face and own every dime that he has." Darren murmured.

David moaned and lay back against Darren's chest. He was so comfortable and tired, but he knew that he had to stay awake. "Yeah." And then, tiredly, "Love you, Darren."

Darren smiled and stroked David's head. "Love you too, David. Love you too."


	3. TakerJohn 'Cream'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Food Play, etc.  
**Dedication:** JadeRose1

* * *

John Cena had a terrible, terrible secret. It involved several tubs of ice cream, whipped cream, and a bag of pitted cherries. A delicious secret, maybe, but a terrible secret all the same.

You see, ever since Michelle McCool had nonchalantly commented about how it looked like Mark had 'put on a few pounds', the older man had been on a diet kick from hell. And John, being the ever loyal and devoted lover that he was, had agreed to do it with him. He hadn't known what he was getting into! Hell, if he had known that Mark would ban all sugary, fattening, and all around delicious food, he would have _never_ agreed! This… this was nothing more than unadulterated torture!

During the day, John would do his best to be strong. He would smile and encourage Mark, because that was what a loving boyfriend did. _However_, if he had to drink one more protein shake, he would throw that damn case of protein powder out the window! But he didn't. He did his best to grin and bear it because it meant something to Mark. Besides, he could always indulge in his dirty little secret when all the lights went out. And that was exactly what he did. When he was sure that Mark was asleep, he climbed out of bed and went to indulge in his guilty pleasure.

Just as he finished making himself a sundae, with a heaping spoonful of whipped cream and a sizeable drizzle of chocolate sauce, Mark came downstairs. For several minutes, the Deadman only stared at him as he indulged in his sweet treat. That was, of course, until he finally cleared his throat and caught John's attention. John looked like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. In essence, he _was_. In that one moment, he had broken every vow that he had made to Mark at the start of his diet.

The spoon fell out of his hand and it clattered on the floor awkwardly. "Um… I can explain…"

Mark crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm waiting to hear this so-called explanation."

John's shoulders sagged when he realized that he didn't actually _have_ an explanation for his actions. An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them.

"Just like I thought. Do you even _care_ about the fact that I'm on a diet?"

"Oh, c'mon Mark. Don't be like that."

"Be like _what_, John?"

John blanched, knowing that he had been backed into a corner. "A… angel?"

Mark's eye twitched and John immediately knew that that was the _wrong_ thing to say. Very calmly, his face steeled, Mark walked over, took the dish that held John's sundae, and washed it down the drain with hot water. John's eyes widened as he watched the sugary sweetness swirl down the drain. And then, with a self-reflective smile, John knew that it was for the best. After all, he _had_ felt like he was cheating Mark. However, that didn't make him crave the ice cream any less.

"Where is the rest of the ice cream?" Mark asked monotonously. Hesitantly, John turned around and motioned to the freezer. He wouldn't really throw out three tubs of vanilla ice cream, would he?

"Do we have to..?" John could barely finish the sentence before Mark shot him 'the look'. Without another moment of hesitation, he walked over and deposited them in the trash can.

"It's for your own good." Mark countered.

"Since when is anything that's 'for your own good' actually for your own good?" John mumbled under his breath. Mark wasn't supposed to hear it, but he did.

Mark just shot him a look and left. Seconds later, a pillow and some blankets were thrown down the stairs…

* * *

John Cena was a man with a mission.

He looked around the room. There were several candles scattered all around, all of them lit and emitting a soft, comforting lavender scent. He had made-up the bed with Mark's favorite white satin sheets and their nice, fluffy silken duvet. Black rose petals were scattered all over the duvet as well. All in all, he looked like a man that was really putting forth the effort to make it back into his lover's pants. And that was exactly what it was.

As of today, it had been one week since Mark had officially deemed him unworthy of human life and had decided to stop speaking to him entirely. John had tried his best to remain strong, with the hope that Mark's resolve would weaken in the end… but who was he kidding? This was the Deadman! He could be celibate for the rest of his life, and it would be no skin off of his bones. John, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.

So, John stripped down until he was naked and threw his clothes in the hamper. And then, bottle of whipped cream in hand (his secret weapon), he lay back on the bed and waited. A half hour passed before he finally heard the door open downstairs. Without a minute to waste, he slathered the whipped cream onto his erect cock and tossed the bottle aside. Now, all he could do was wait.

Mark stumbled into the bedroom looking terribly exhausted, but the new arrangement was not lost on him. Especially not the 'treat' that waited for him on the bed. "What the hell is this?"

John leaned forward a bit and spread his legs out. "I'm here to prove Michelle wrong. You haven't 'put on a few pounds', Mark. And this silly diet is stressing you out so much that you're losing weight to stress."

"I need to be in the best physical shape possible to keep myself and my opponent safe in the ring." Mark answered immediately. His eyes looked bloodshot, like all the life had been sucked out of him.

"And to be the healthiest that you can be, you have to indulge every once in awhile." John told him with an enticing smirk. "C'mon, Mark. I won't tell anyone."

Mark looked at him uncertainly, before his eyes fell down to his stomach. "Are you sure about this?"

"Would I have done all of this if I _wasn't_ sure?" John shot back. "Now, c'mon, baby. I missed you."

Mark didn't need much more of an invitation. Slowly, he leaned forward and pushed John back onto the bed. And then, taking hold of the base of John's erection, he swiped his tongue along the salty sweetness that had accumulated there. John moaned and bucked his hips, trying his best to control his movements and not choke Mark, but failing miserably at it.

Mark swirled his tongue once, twice, three times over the head, before he went down on John's cock in its entirety. John moaned and writhed on the bed, desperate for more of that deliciously warm heat that had swallowed him. A cold sweat started to break out on his skin and the black rose petals clung to him like a sweater. Mark hollowed out his cheeks, taking in the last of the sweet cream that John had cloaked himself with, and started to bob his head.

John was seeing stars. He was in absolute euphoria. He didn't even feel it when Mark reached up to take hold of his hips to keep him under control. Faster, with hollowed out cheeks, he continued to suck John's cock. And then, if only to add fuel to the growing fire, Mark wet one of his fingers and slid it into John's hole, feeling around until he found that little bundle of nerves…

"Fuck!" The Cenation Hero exclaimed as Mark jabbed his finger into his prostate repeatedly. "Fuck… Mark, gonna… gonna cum!" John warned him only seconds before it came, but Mark heard.

Mark swallowed down all that the smaller man had to offer, working his finger in and out of his lover's ass to ensure that he received every last drop of cum. Finally, when John's body fell back onto the bed, spent, Mark pulled off and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. He tried to roll off of the bed to retrieve a washcloth to clean up John's sticky, sugary body, but John held him down and shook his head slowly.

"Hey John?" Mark said after a few minutes.

"What?" John raised an eyebrow.

"I think that I may have to throw at those protein shakes. They're rather disgusting and, to be quite honest," Mark leaned over and whispered in John's ear, "I like your flavor better."


	4. ChrisShawn 'Comfort'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** T  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Fluff, etc.  
**Dedication:** LadyDragonsblood

* * *

Chris looked at the clock. It was almost 4:30 AM.

Silently, he wandered into the bedroom that he shared with his husband and stared down at the bed. Shawn had just come home from the hospital after a brutal attack from Brock Lesnar and now he sported a fancy black cast on his right arm. His sling sat on the bedside table, abandoned. Pain knotted his face in his sleep. Pain that Chris could barely fathom and, to be honest, he didn't _want_ to.

Chris had seen first-hand the effect of the Kimura Lock. Not only did the submission maneuver have an obvious physical effect, but it also affected the opponent mentally. Take Hunter, for example. It was true that he would heal physically, but the fact that he had lost to Brock Lesnar a second time, on his own terms… well, Chris wasn't sure if that kind of emotional scar could be overcome. It was doubtful, but never say never.

Slowly, Chris wandered over to the bed. He kicked off his shoes – because he knew about how much of an issue Shawn had when he left them on – and slithered into bed beside Shawn. The coppery blond only moaned and turned into Chris, who acted more like a human-pillow than the older man's lover. But Chris didn't really mind. He would be whatever Shawn needed him to be so that he could heal faster.

"Mmm, Chris?" Shawn rolled over a little bit more so that he was buried into Chris' warmth. "When did you come home?" His voice was slurred and his eyes weren't open. Chris doubted he was even awake.

"I just got back a few minutes ago." Chris answered. Softly, he reached out and brushed the soft hairs out from in front of Shawn's face. "How do you feel?"

"Pain. Exhausted. Mostly pain, though." Shawn mumbled. He shifted a little bit and swung wildly with his right arm, almost taking Chris' head off with the heavy microfiber cast.

"Watch where you swing that thing!" Chris exclaimed as he ducked underneath the blow. A mumbled 'sorry' came from the Heartbreak Kid as he shifted around to make himself more comfortable. "Do you want your pain pills?"

Shawn sighed, knowing that this meant that Chris would have to stand up. He rolled over onto his back, his eyes still firmly shut. "Yeah. They're in the medicine cabinet on the left side."

Chris kissed Shawn's forehead. "Okay, baby. I'll be back in a few seconds."

Chris crawled out from underneath the copper blond and made his way into the adjacent bathroom. It only took him a few seconds to locate the pill bottle and pour out two into his hand. With the other hand, he filled a small Dixie cup with some water. The last thing that he needed was for Shawn to start choking because he couldn't dry swallow the medication that would make him feel better.

He walked back into the bedroom and helped Shawn to prop himself up on some pillows. Then, he handed the copper blond his medication and told him to swallow with the water. Making a mental note of the time (because he could only take the pills every twelve hours), he threw the now-empty Dixie cup into the trashcan and climbed back into bed. Within seconds, Shawn was back on him.

"I take it you missed me, huh baby?" Chris asked him softly. He brushed the soft hairs out from in front of Shawn's face and whispered sweet nothings to him in an attempt to lull him.

"O' course I missed you." Shawn's sweet southern twang became all the more evident in his sleep deprived state. "I don't sleep right when you're not here. Hell, I don't think I sleep at all…"

Chris' heart sank at the idea of Shawn not being able to sleep without him. "It's okay, baby. I'm here now and I'll watch over you. I'll never leave you, Shawn."

And then, an idea came to Shawn. "Aren't you supposed to be on tour with Fozzy?"

Chris nodded. "Yeah. But I saw what happened on Raw and I couldn't just leave you, could I?"

Embarrassed heat stained Shawn's pretty cheeks. He buried his face in Chris' shoulder shyly. "I can take care of myself… You shouldn't have to worry about me."

"Mmhmm." Chris said, disbelieving. "So, that is why I came in and found you half-conscious, in unbearable pain, and had to find out from Hunter that you hadn't eaten in two days."

"I'm fine." Shawn lied. Both of them knew it was a lie, but Chris didn't comment.

Chris leaned down and softly stroked Shawn's hair. Secretly, he was thankful that Hunter had called him and told him about Shawn's condition. He knew for a fact that Shawn never would have told him himself. Shawn bit down on the inside of his mouth and moaned as he tried to move his shoulder. Chris shushed him softly and readjusted the arm for him. It looked like he would have to have a few _words_ with Brock Lesnar the next time he saw him.

Shawn moaned and Chris leaned forward, kissing his baby's forehead and rocking him softly. He loved Shawn so much and it hurt him to be apart from him for any stretch of time. He reached out and curled one of Shawn's silky copper strands around his finger. Shawn hummed his approval, allowing his eyes to fall closed as he rested his head on Chris' chest. Chris smiled and pulled the blankets up over both of them.

"Hey, Chris?" Shawn mumbled, his exhaustion finally getting the worst of him.

"What's the matter, baby?" Chris asked.

Shawn buried his face in Chris' chest. "Just… promise that you'll still be here when I wake up. Promise that you won't leave me."

Chris nodded. "I promise, baby. I'll never leave you again."

Shawn sighed. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Chris swore. "I love you too."


	5. RandyJohn 'BallGag'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Dom/sub, Toys, etc.  
**Dedication:** waldron82

* * *

"You lost the bet, John." Randy's warm breath washed over John's naked skin and the smaller brunette couldn't help but shiver in nervous pleasure. "And that means, I can do whatever I want with you."

Randy Orton was a competitive soul by nature. It was in his blood. So when the two had found out that both would be on the card for Night of Champions, but in two separate matches, a tiny little bet had been born. If Randy won in his match against Dolph Ziggler, then he would top John. John, who had always been dominant in bed (and had never bottomed before, but he wasn't about to tell Randy that), had been hesitant to accept. In the end, he had no choice.

"You look so delectable like this, Johnny. All stretched out, unable to talk, unable to ask for what it is that you really need." Randy's eyes flickered down to John's heavily erect shaft. "What do you want, Johnny?"

John moaned around the ball-gag in his mouth as he tried to speak. When he found himself unable to form words, he started to test the limits of his binds. Randy tsked and further tightened the belts around his wrists.

Randy shook his head. "Now, Johnny. You have to be fair. You _did_ lose your match. And karma _is_ a bitch." Randy smirked, showing off vicious canines as he started to scope out John's body for what he wanted to do first.

"Ra-Ra…" John's voice was muffled behind the ball in his mouth as he tried to call out Randy's name. Without a moment of hesitation, Randy leaned down and licked at one of John's nipples.

"You like that, Johnny? Would you like for me to lick every inch of you? Do you want me to eat you out?"

"Mmhmm." John could only make small sounds from behind the gag. He swallowed hard and waited.

And then, if only to add to the merciless pain that had started to form in his stomach from the overstimulation and nervous tension, Randy slid his tongue from John's belly button all the way toward his pectoral. Once there, he slid it around the erect nipple and laved it until it was totally soaked. John moaned and started to writhe, even managing to loosen the belts a little bit so that he could touch Randy's shoulders. But Randy didn't like that.

Making a small, somewhat primal noise in the back of his throat, Randy took hold of John's shoulders and slammed him down onto the bed with enough force to knock the wind out of him. John stared up at him with wide eyes, more than a little freaked out by the sudden assertion of dominance from the submissive. It wasn't that he didn't know that the taller brunette could be assertive, no. It was just that he had never asserted himself with violence before.

Randy smirked at him, all traces of the man that he loved gone and they had been replaced with a predator fighting for dominance. "Johnny – I tied you to the bed for a reason. Do you know what that reason is?"

John shook his head, unable to swallow the lump in his throat in order to make a sound.

"I tied you down to the bed so that you wouldn't move. Now, look what you've done." Randy motioned to the loosened belts. "I think that this warrants a punishment, don't you?"

John tried to ask what kind of punishment he would receive, but all that came out were a bunch of jumbled sounds that made absolutely no sense.

Randy took the gag out of his mouth. And then, he took down both belts and retied the second one around both of his wrists. "Just for that show of defiance, you're gonna get whipped. Count each of them. And not another sound."

John swallowed hard and nodded automatically. "Yes."

Randy frowned at him and sent the belt crashing down onto John's skin. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!" John screamed.

Randy only smirked, before he raised the belt in the air and brought it down on John's stomach with such ferocity that the echo of leather on skin could be heard for several seconds afterword. John flinched and tensed, his back arching as white-hot pain seared down his spine. But true to his word, he called out 'one'. Randy smiled, pleased that he had obeyed the basic command. Another strike, John called out 'two'. And so it went, until John's stomach was beet red.

Randy discarded the belt and stroked a hand over the bloody, bruised mess that he had made. John moaned and tried to move away, but Randy wouldn't let him. Instead, he took the heel of his palm and pressed down into John's pubic bone. Blood rushed into his cock and whatever part of his erection that had wilted immediately came back. But before John could tell him that, Randy slid the gag back into his mouth.

"You look so perfect like this, John boy. Covered in bruises and blood. Is this what you feel when you see me like this?" Randy purred as he ran his hands over John's stomach.

John moaned, feeling little more than the delicious delirium from the overload of painful pleasure.

Randy's eyes flickered down to John's erection. "You're so fucking hard, Johnny. Do you want me?"

John moaned and felt his eyes roll back into his head.

Without another word, Randy spat on his fingers and made sure they were nice and slick, before he slid two into John's tight, virgin hole. John moaned, screaming behind the gag as he felt his walls brutally stretch. It felt like Randy was attempting to tear him into two! But Randy was relentless, working the fingers in and out at a slow pace. But it wasn't until Randy's fingers brushed over John's prostate that he felt the first burst of euphoria.

When John relaxed around him, he started to pump harder. Harder and faster, alternating the angles of his thrusts by the way John would force his hips down onto his fingers. Randy jabbed at that little knob that made John see stars, watching as the Cenation Hero writhed violently and his eyes rolled back into his head. And then, with a whispered command, John released and fell back onto the bed, exhausted.

Randy popped the gag out of John's mouth. "How do you feel, Johnny?"

John continued to stare at him breathlessly. "Holy shit, Ran. Felt fucking amazing. Remind me to lose our bets more often!"

Randy smirked. "Will do, John. Will do."


	6. JohnRandy 'Chocolate'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Chocolate, Romance, Fluff, etc.  
**Dedication:** xGoldGang

* * *

John moaned as he buried himself to the hilt inside of Randy's warm heat. The tanned brunette hissed at the sudden intrusion, unprepared for the sharp burst of pain that traveled up his spine like a red-hot poker had touched his skin. Gently, John worked his hands over Randy's chiseled abs and down to his waist as he tried to force the taller man to relax. Eventually, his sweet ministrations had the desired effect and Randy's body unwound.

It was Valentine's Day. But not only was it Valentine's Day, but it was also their fifth anniversary. And after a surprise proposal that had warmed the Viper's cold, venom-covered heart, both men had tumbled into the bedroom to finish what they had started earlier in the day. But John had one last trick tucked up his sleeve. It involved a box of chocolates and one not-so-innocent Viper.

Slowly, John drew out. He made sure that Randy could feel every inch of him as he was forced to stretch to accommodate the broader man's size. And then, when only the head remained inside of him, he hammered back in and hit the prostate dead-on. Stars lit up behind Randy's eyes and his back arched up. John smirked. With one hand, he leaned forward and pressed Randy back onto the bed.

"Now, now, Randal. We can't be too rambunctious. It's not healthy for the bed. And I think we both remember what happened last time…" John didn't need to say more.

"I… I need… more… _fuck_." Randy cursed as he tried to flip them over and fuck himself on John's cock. John, however, only smirked and pressed down harder.

"Why would you want to rush me and ruin the surprise?" John asked, feigned hurt in his voice.

"I don't think that my heart can handle any more surprises today." Randy mumbled underneath his breath.

"Not even one that has to do with…" here, John carefully twisted around, making sure that he remained firmly seated in Randy's ass, "… chocolate?" John offered.

Randy raised one dark eyebrow. "Chocolate?"

"Of course. It is Valentine's Day, after all. And what Valentine's Day would be complete without chocolate?" John asked, the corners of his mouth tilted up in a small smirk.

"What kind of chocolate?" Randy asked.

"Chocolate with different flavored filling." John said.

John reached over and took the lid off of the cheesy heart-shaped box that sat on the bed beside Randy's outstretched arm. Pretending to look lost in thought, he finally settled on a chocolate filled with orange crème and bit down on it, enjoying the rush of tangy flavor. And then, he leaned down, smearing the melting chocolate over Randy's lips and imploring him to open his mouth and taste the sweetness for himself.

Randy's tongue swiped out and took the chocolate out from between John's teeth, swallowing it down with a broad smile on his face. John smirked. Well, two could play at this game. He took another chocolate, this time stuffed with strawberry crème, and slipped it into Randy's mouth. Just as the Viper started to suck on it, he scooped down and stole the sweetness off of his tongue. Randy tried to look indignant, but only managed to break down, laughing.

John took out another candy, this time melting the one side with his tongue, before he started to swirl decorative patterns over Randy's tanned, tattooed skin. Randy moaned and writhed, feeling the sweet stickiness coat every inch of his body. When the candy was nothing more than sugar between John's fingers, he licked the chocolate off and then set to work on Randy's chiseled, chocolate-covered torso.

"F-Fuck, Johnny…" Randy trailed off as his eyes slid shut. He couldn't take it. It just felt so fucking _good_. And then, if only to increase the pleasurable sensations budding within him, John started to move.

"You like it when I fuck you, baby? You like to be covered in chocolate, just so that I can lick every inch of you like the dirty little slut that you are? Huh?" John moaned when Randy clamped down around him.

"F-Fuck, Johnny. Need more. Fuck me… harder." Randy clawed at John's back until he left dark red scratches in the skin. "Need more. I know you can give it to me harder than that."

"You want it harder, baby?" John asked.

Randy nodded frantically. "Hard and fast. Make me _bleed_, Johnny."

How could John deny such a request? Anchoring himself on Randy's shoulders, John rammed into Randy's hole as far as the man beneath would take him. Randy howled, throwing his head back and feeling the familiar burn as John's pace increased. The lube that they had used was soon irrelevant as Randy felt himself tear, but he couldn't care less. All he cared about was the fire that had pooled at the base of his spine.

Slowly, but surely, he could feel the burn of completion pool at the base of his spine. But it still wasn't enough. Finally, craving more than John was giving him, he rolled John over onto his back and straddled the bigger man's waist. Sitting down on the massive girth, without waiting to become accustomed to his size, he started to pound his hips down onto John's. Closer and closer he came, until…

"Shit!" Randy screamed as he came, the opalescent substance coating John's stomach and chest. The feeling of Randy clamping down onto John's cock caused the older man to come as well.

Randy rolled off of John and onto his back. After he recouped, John climbed off of the bed and vanished into the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth. Once he came back, he started to clean the blood off of his future husband.

"Hey, John?" Randy asked after John had finished his task.

"What is it, Randy?" John asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Thank you, for… this." Randy motioned to the flower petals, chocolate, and the ring box on the bedside table.

John only smiled. "When we went on our first date, I told you that I would be your knight in shining armor." John leaned down and wrapped his arms around Randy. "And I always keep my promises."


	7. E&C 'Possession'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Possession, Dom/sub, Collar, etc.  
**Dedication:** JoMoFan-Spot

* * *

"I'm sorry, Jay…" Adam trailed off. He stared down at the blanket on the bed, unsure of what else he could say. Maybe it would be best if he remained silent…

"You're sorry? You're _sorry_? Do you even know what the fuck that means, Adam?" Jay screamed at him. Adam flinched and looked down. "Who do you belong to?" Silence. "Who the fuck do you belong to, Adam?"

"You, Jay." Adam whispered. Immediately, Adam felt Jay tangle his fingers in his long blond hair and yank his head back. "You, Jay! I belong to you!" He said, louder this time.

"And if you know that you belong to me, why would you get in the middle of a 'love fest' between Kane and Daniel Bryan?" Jay was furious. Adam could feel it.

"It was only a hug, Jay! It's not like it was the end of the world!" Adam retaliated, but immediately regretted it.

"Do you need another lesson in how to speak to your master?" Jay hissed.

Adam swallowed hard, weighing the idea of a punishment versus how pissed off Jay was. In the end, he decided that maybe he had pushed Jay a little too far this time. "I'm sorry, Jay-Jay. I didn't mean to piss you off."

The tension started to roll off of Jay and he relaxed. "Damn it, Adam. You know I can't stay mad when you…"

Adam leaned forward, crawling over to Jay on his hands and knees. "I'm really sorry, Jay. I won't ever do it again."

"I have a feeling that you would do it again just to get me pissed off enough to punish you."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Guess you're just gonna have to wait to find out, huh?" Adam teased.

"You're such a little bitch, Princess." Adam narrowed his eyes, but didn't comment. "But you know what you can do? One thing, and you'll be forgiven."

Adam blinked in innocent curiosity. He was all for making Jay happy with him again. "What?"

"I went out and had this handmade for you. You have to wear it every day, all day – except, of course, when you sleep. I don't want you to choke." Jay said.

Carefully, Adam took the box out of Jay's hands and opened it. Inside, there was a beautiful, black leather collar. It was embellished with beautiful diamonds that had been worked onto the surface. At the front, in silver frames that had been filled with diamonds, were the words 'Jay's Bitch'. The words worked like an invisible set clasp. If you pressed down on the letters, the collar opened. Adam couldn't do it himself.

Adam looked at it with wide eyes, instantly in love. Jay undid the clasp and slid it around Adam's neck, before he secured it into place. Now, the entire world would know _exactly_ who Adam belonged to. Adam loved the new sense of belonging. It made him feel important, ever since his boyfriend had been off for shoulder surgery and he had been filming new episodes for Haven. This was the first time that they had been together in awhile.

Jay leaned forward and kissed his baby, before he rolled onto his back and allowed Adam to settle onto his hips. It was still a little uncomfortable for him in the other positions, and Adam was more than happy to ride him. With his good hand, he snapped the string of Adam's thong and watched as the material fell away. Adam helped him out of his jeans and his boxers, throwing them off into the distance.

He didn't wait. He _couldn't_ wait. Leaning forward, he sank down onto Jay's girth and took every inch of him in. The delicious burn sent shivers down Adam's spine. The taller blond leaned forward, kissing his man and silently assuring him that he was the only one that he wanted, he was the only one that he could _ever_ want. That collar was proof enough the nobody would dare to put their hands on what clearly belonged to Jay.

"I love you, Jay-Jay. We're gonna be together forever. I'm sorry that I made you doubt that. And, if it makes you feel better, I won't go near the two freaks again. Please, give me a reason to not go near those two freaks again."

Jay smirked. He bucked his hips up into Adam's and slammed into Adam's prostate. "You really don't like them, do you? Well, that's okay. You never have to go near them again. I promise."

Adam moaned, unable to form more coherent sentences. His eyes fell closed in ecstasy.

"Now, now, Adam. You have to keep your eyes open and focused on me." Jay teased him. "If you close your eyes, I'm gonna stop."

Adam bit down on his bottom lip and his eyes shot open. "No. Don't. You. Dare. Fucking. Stop."

Jay hooked his finger into the collar and yanked on it a bit, clearly displaying his dominance over Adam. "Need I remind you who is in charge here? I can start and stop whenever the hell I want to."

"But you wouldn't be that cruel to me, now would you? You love me too much to do that to me?" Adam looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. He almost seemed afraid.

Jay smirked. "That's right, Addy. You better damn well remember that I love you and _only_ you."

Adam nodded. "Course I do. I love you too."

Adam thrust his hips down a few more times, before he came with a sharp shout. His entrance clamped down around Jay and seconds later, Jay filled him with his essence, claiming him. Slowly, carefully, Adam rolled off of him and fell onto his back, so exhausted that he almost fell asleep right there and then. Jay smirked. He rolled over onto his side, his good arm, and carefully reached out with his bad arm to cover Adam's lithe body.

"You're safe now, Adam. You're _mine_ and I will always protect you. I love you." Jay whispered.

Adam, almost asleep, whispered. "I love you too."


	8. JeffPhil 'Argument'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** T  
**Warning(s):** Slash  
**Dedication:** TheGirlInThePinkScarf

* * *

Jeff couldn't even remember why he was downstairs on the couch.

Briefly, flashes of an almost-violent altercation with his lover came to his mind. But they were all still-life, no sound. He could remember the word 'broken' rather vividly. But what, or who, was broken? Jeff didn't know. He rolled over on the couch, fluffed his pillow, and tried to make himself comfortable. Key word: _tried_. That old couch was tried and true. They had had several heated encounters on it and, truth be told, it had most likely outlived its usefulness.

Jeff could feel the sharp bite of the old springs cut into his back. The cushions were so old that, if you tried to clean them, they would most like disintegrate. There were a few unidentifiable stains on that couch as well. Well, a few was a bit of an understatement. And unidentifiable was a bit of a lie. He knew exactly what they were. Heated encounters, remember? The only reason that that damn couch was still around was for sentimental value.

It felt like it should be a relic in some kind of museum. It should be looked at, admired, but certainly not slept on. Jeff could already feel his back start to knot up. Well, shit. He looked over the side, at the crème colored carpet below. It looked a lot more inviting than the bumpy, claustrophobic couch. In an extremely undignified manner, he rolled off of the couch and onto the floor in a flurry of blankets and pillows. He landed with a soft _thud_.

Broken. Broken. What was broken? And that's when Jeff's eyes scrolled over to the place where the pot that he had made his mother in the first grade had once sat. That was one of the last presents that he was able to give his mother before she died. Instead, all he saw was blank space. Vaguely, he remembered Phil's gym bag swiping it off of the table and it falling to the hardwood floor, shattering on impact.

_"What the fuck, Phil?" Jeff screamed as he saw the broken shards of his pot. "Why do you have to be such a fucking klutz? Do you realize how much that meant to me?"_

_Phil stared down at it in shock. He looked upset about what had happened, but not upset as he should be. At least, in Jeff's mind. "I'm sorry, Jeff. I didn't mean to."_

_"Yeah. You didn't mean to. You didn't 'mean to'. That's such a load of bull. Just like you didn't mean to kiss my brother under the mistletoe last year." Jeff hissed._

_Phil's eyes widened and his face flushed with anger. "You know that that was an accident! He was supposed to kiss me on the cheek, but he was drunk and went for the lips!" Phil screamed. "And you're one to talk!"_

_"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Jeff countered. He wasn't in the mood to hear about himself._

_"Seconds later, you're in the bedroom fucking Adam so hard we can hear you downstairs!" Phil screamed._

_"You left me no other choice in the matter." Jeff said. Both knew it was a lousy excuse._

But that wasn't the whole story. No. No. For some reason, Jeff could feel that there was more. He let his eyes roam around the room. What else could have happened, what else could be broken? And then, he found it. The shattered remains of a lamp – light bulb, extension cord, and all – were scattered all over the floor. Had he thrown the lamp at Phil? No, that couldn't be true. He would _never_… but he couldn't see any other alternative.

Slowly, he slid out from beneath his bundle of blankets and walked over to the scene. He picked up one of the heavy shards and turned it over and over in his hand. It just seemed so… out of character for him to lose his temper like that. But whenever Phil mentioned that cursed Christmas, he tended to act a little out of character. Jeff scooped up the shards of the lamp and threw them into the trash can.

_"What the hell was that for?" Phil screamed as he frantically motioned to the lamp on the floor. "I know that you think that I'm shitty for breaking your pot, but is that any reason to try and kill me?"_

_Jeff shrugged it off, almost like he didn't care. "It wouldn't have killed you. Do you think I'm actually stupid enough to aim for your head?" Jeff shot back._

_"You know what, fucker? I'm done with this!" Phil screamed, pulling at his hair until it stood by itself._

_"What do you mean 'you're done with this'? Are you breaking up with me?" Jeff asked, a little afraid now._

_"No." Phil narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm __done__ with you being a total asshole for every little mistake that I make, and then throwing the mistletoe incident in my face. I'm sorry, okay fucker? I'm sorry!"_

_"Well, you know what? Maybe sorry isn't good enough this time." Jeff told him, his face stern. "I won't stand here and let you make me into the asshole here. Just… leave."_

_"Why should __I__ have to leave? It's __my__ house!" Phil screamed._

_"Just fuck off, then!" Jeff screamed. And Phil did just that. A few seconds later, Jeff's pillows and a blanket flew down the stairs. It looked like he would be sleeping on the couch, then._

Jeff shook his head. He couldn't believe that he had been such an ass. Maybe it would be better if he didn't remember. Maybe he and Phil were just so dysfunctional, they couldn't work it out anymore. But Jeff doubted that. Nothing was impossible, after all. And so, without further delay, Jeff rushed toward the staircase and ran upstairs. He needed to be with his lover. He needed to tell him how sorry he was.

When he finally arrived at their room, he found that the door was unlocked. He slipped inside into the darkness. The first thing he noticed was the clay pot on the bedside table. Phil had glued it back together. It looked as perfect as it had the day that he had made it, which showed that Phil had taken such care to pay attention to every little detail. Jeff felt his heart swell at the very idea of it.

Currently, Phil lay in bed, his head on the pillow. Jeff stared at him for a minute, mesmerized. And then, he climbed into bed bedside him and cradled the smaller man in his arms. Immediately, Phil tensed. A little blearily, his olive eyes opened and tried to focus on him in the darkness. When he was finally able to be so, he yanked back as if he had been burned. But Jeff held firm and would not allow him to escape.

"I'm sorry, Phil. I was a total ass to you and I shouldn't have said and done those things to you. I'm so sorry, Philly." Jeff murmured the last words over and over. Phil blinked at him slowly.

"You really sc-sc-sc… You could have killed me when you threw that lamp at me." He finished lamely. He couldn't admit that he had been really scared when Jeff had done that.

"I know, I know. And I'm sorry. Tomorrow, I'll get help. I don't want you to ever be afraid of me again, okay? You shouldn't have to be afraid of your boyfriend." Jeff said.

"I wasn't afraid." Phil said softly, but both men knew that it was a lie.

Jeff only smiled softly and ruffled Phil's hair. He leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "I love you, Phil."

A moment of silence. And then, his eyes slid downward. "I love you too."


	9. JeffAdam 'Interruptions'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Anger, Humor, Fluff, etc.  
**Dedication:** LTA-2002

* * *

"Oh, _fuck_. So close. So close, Jeff. Harder. _Harder_!" Adam screamed as Jeff continued to hammer into him, one hand holding his wrists down to the bed, the other holding Adam's left hip so firmly it left a deep, dark crimson mark.

"You want harder, baby?" Jeff panted. His words were slurred and hard to decipher, but Adam understood. He nodded furiously. Leaning down, he flicked his tongue over one erect nipple. "You like that, baby?"

Adam moaned and writhed as Jeff picked up the pace. He could feel the burn of friction that was both delicious and painful and it sent him into delirium. "Holy shit, Jeff. Just like that. _More_."

Jeff only smirked. He leaned up, kissed his baby, and then forcibly drew back for air. "Can't go faster, baby. We'll break the bed. I can already hear it rattlin'." Jeff's thick, southern drawl only made Adam harder.

"Don't care. Need more. Give me… _more_!" Adam's back arched off of the bed as Jeff's cock brushed his prostate. Stars danced behind his eyes and he was so close, so close, and…

The door burst open and revealed an extremely irate Randy Orton on the other side. Adam kicked his boyfriend and shoved him down to the floor. Jeff landed with a thud, his erection wilting as he rubbed his swollen elbow. Muttering curses underneath his breath, he grabbed the nearest article of clothing and covered himself. Adam did the same, only this time, it was with a blanket. His beautiful face was dusted with a fine blush.

Randy blinked between the two of them, not embarrassed in the least. In fact, it almost looked like he had been in the same situation with John down the hall. Quieter, though. Much, much quieter. Randy's eyebrows twitched as he stormed into the room, one hand on his hip. He looked like an irate diva; JoMo came to mind, not that either man would say that out loud. Randy could kick major ass and _nobody_ called him a diva. The diva was _definitely_ John.

"If you two don't mind, I want to _sleep_! It's two in the fucking morning. I know that you two are like horny rabbits, but could you keep off of each other for six hours? Six hours is all that I ask for." Randy said.

"You know, bitch, there is such a thing as 'knocking'. It prevents people from throwing their lovers off of the bed and creating extremely… noticeable bruises." Jeff hissed at him.

"I didn't come to pick a fight, but because you started it," Randy came over and tangled his fingers in Jeff's hair. "C'mon, pretty boy. Make another smart-ass remark and see what happens."

"Now, now," Adam crawled between them and put a hand on Randy's chest. "We'll be quiet, okay?"

Randy nodded. "Good. And you're lucky I didn't rearrange your face, bitch."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Jeff countered, not believing.

Once Randy left, Adam pulled Jeff back onto the bed and curled up around him. "I'm tired. What do you say we continue this tomorrow?"

"Whatever." Jeff said.

* * *

Adam was sprawled out on Jeff's couch, his jeans tied around his wrists, and one leg hooked over the back of the couch while the other flew off the side of the couch. Jeff kneeled between his legs, slowly easing into his well-prepped hole. Once he sank all the way inside, he drew back and started back in. Over and over. Adam closed his eyes, mesmerized by the absolute euphoria that shot up his spine.

Jeff leaned down, his body covering Adam's. The weight was lovely, almost uncomfortable, but it only increased the pleasure that he felt. The pleasurable knot in his stomach started to form. Tightening, tightening, all the while, Jeff increased his speed and changed his angle until he plowed into Adam's prostate. Adam moaned and arched off of the couch, his arms locking behind Jeff's neck and pulling him down even closer.

Faster and faster, Jeff plowed into him harder until he had almost bent Adam in half. He made sure to keep the pressure off of Adam's neck, not wanting to accidentally hurt him in the throes of passion. So close. So fucking close. Just then, the door burst open and an irate bully and the current World Heavyweight Champion, Austin Aries, stormed into the room. Jeff sighed. This was starting to become a regular occurrence. He didn't like it.

Pulling out of Adam, he wrapped a towel around his waist. "What the hell do the two of you want?"

"Sting and Hogan seem to think that I need to prove myself before I can be Sting's tag partner, so I figure the best way to do that is to beat your scrawny ass in a match!" Bully screamed.

Austin rolled his eyes. "Excuse me." Adam flinched. He sounded too much like Vickie for comfort. "I'm the World Heavyweight Champion. You should want to prove yourself in a match with _me_!"

"Was I talking to you, pipsqueak?" The Bully yelled at him. Then, he turned back around to Jeff. "So, what do you say, Hardy? Do we have a match?"

"Fuck you, Bully!" Austin hit him on the shoulder with the belt, but it didn't have the desired effect.

"I bet you wish that I would, Austin." Bully smirked. "Now, what do you say?"

Jeff's eyebrow twitched. If it weren't for those fucking bastards, Aces and Eights, then he would still be buried inside his lover and finishing what they started. He looked between the two of them, his eyes narrowed. Really, the sexual tension between the two of them had started to give him a headache. Taking a drink of water from the plastic bottle on the coffee table, he looked between the two men firmly.

"Fine. Let's make it a three-way. Bully Ray vs. Austin Aries vs. Jeff Hardy. Now, would you both be so kind as to leave my fucking locker room?" Jeff hissed rudely.

Austin's eyes widened. "What the fuck? Are you some kind of matchmaker now?" Jeff smirked. With how intelligent these two men were, you would think that they would realize not to push him right now.

"You want it to be a one-on-one match? Fine. The last one to leave my locker room _won't_ be participating in the match tonight. You have until the count of three."

"You can't be serious. What do you think that you're gonna do to me?" Bully shot back.

"One." Jeff said, a little too calmly.

"Bully, I think that he's serious." Austin said. Jeff twirled the water bottle around in his hands nonchalantly.

"Two." Jeff said.

Bully twitched. A thin sheen of sweat covered his skin. Austin could see the inner-turmoil as it played out on his face. "I'd like to see you try and put your scrawny little hands on me."

Jeff raised one eyebrow. "Thr-," before he could finish, both men had run out the door.

* * *

It was the last show before Bound for Glory and all of the stars were anxious to see what Aces and Eights would come up with next. Well, all but two stars. Jeff pinned Adam to the wall in a utility closet, feeling the warmth of Adam's muscular legs hook around his waist. They ground against each other, so close that they could actually feel the other's heart beat in their chest.

Jeff's fingers reached out and started to tug at Adam's jeans. He popped the button and slid them down around his waist, kicking a broom out of the way to make sure that it wouldn't dig into Adam's neck. Barely having a chance to breathe, Jeff felt Adam's fingers snake down and undo the button of his wrestling pants as well. Pulling them down, Adam lowered himself onto Jeff's erection and took all of him in at once.

"Mr. Hardy? Mr. Hardy!" Jeff recognized the voice of one of the stage hands calling his name. That could only mean that his match was up next. But how the hell could that be? He was in the fucking main event!

"Just… be… quiet. The last place he would think to look would be a utility closet, right?" Jeff said. Adam tried to hold back a moan as Jeff shifted around to make himself more comfortable, but a small sound leaked out anyway.

The door opened a little bit, just far enough to allow the man's face to come into the closet. "Mr. Hardy, your match is up next." Jeff's eye twitched, and begrudgingly, he pulled out.

"Thank you. Thank you." Jeff hissed, before he started to pull himself together for his match.

* * *

Jeff pulled out and crashed onto the bed, feeling the lovely bliss of completion for the first time in three weeks. Adam panted, feeling empty but satisfied, as he rolled over and plopped his head down onto Jeff's chest. Breathlessly, Adam leaned up and kissed the bigger man. He loved Jeff so much. And now, finally, they were together and _alone_. No more interruptions. No more embarrassments.

Adam smiled and sighed. "I love you, Jeff."

Jeff returned the sentiment. "Love you too, Addy."


	10. BrockTyson 'Summer'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Picnic-Sex, Public Sex, etc.  
**Dedication:** YoominC16

Tyson stared at the stars, mesmerized by their beauty. He barely felt it when Brock's hand started to snake toward his belt buckle. "Brock?" His voice was soft, as if he didn't want to disturb the serene silence.

"What is it, Tyson?" Brock asked, his voice also soft. Gently, he flicked the button of Tyson's jeans and rolled the zipper down. "Hmm? What is it, kid?"

"Do you ever wonder what we look like to the stars? I mean, we must look like ants. Or maybe they can't see us at all. They're not even in our solar system." Tyson rambled. "All I know is that they're beautiful."

"You're a real romantic, aren't you, kid?" Brock mused. There was a tint of amusement in his voice. "No, I don't really think about the stars all that much. What made you think of them?"

"Natalya." Tyson mewled softly as Brock's meaty hand enclosed around his flaccid cock.

Brock tensed a bit, but continued to stroke nonetheless. "And what did Natalya have to say?"

"I'm not really sure. I wasn't really listening to her. I was just… thinking." Tyson finished lamely.

"About what?" Brock pushed a little harder.

"Why it never worked out between us." Tyson said. The hand on his erection froze and Tyson moaned. "And then I realized why I couldn't still be with her."

Brock bit down on his bottom lip to keep his true feelings about the blond Hart heiress held at bay. "And why was that? Care to share with the class?"

"If I hadn't broken it off with her, then I never would have met you the summer after. We wouldn't be here without her, if you think about it. So, I thanked her." Tyson said nonchalantly.

Brock blinked in honest shock. "Oh."

Tyson didn't continue on to say how, when he was little, he would often wish on the stars and hope that he would one day find someone to love him like his Daddy loved his Mommy. While most other boys rolled around in the dirt and scraped their knees at sports, Tyson found himself surrounded by the girls. He didn't know why. He didn't consider himself much of a catch. Not as cute as the other boys, at least.

And that's when he started to realize that maybe it wasn't the girls that he was interested in. Maybe it was the boys. But then, Natalya had come into his life and offered him an out. She would date him while he attempted to discover his sexuality. And for a time, he was convinced that he loved her. It was almost like he had convinced himself to be straight. But it didn't work. And when Brock came into the picture, all of that had gone out the window.

Brock had been the only man to touch Tyson like he was doing now. With newly slickened fingers, he stuffed two into Tyson's hole and started to stretch him. Tyson mewled, pulled out of his silent reverie as he felt Brock fuck him with his fingers. The last vestiges of their picnic lay scattered all around them. The blanket bunched beneath them as Tyson's hips lifted up into the air and forced Brock in deeper.

"What?" Tyson looked at him with half-lidded eyes, which were deliciously clouded with lust. "Did you think that I still wanted her after all this time?" It was half a joke, but Tyson knew that this conversation was serious.

The way Brock looked away cleared any doubt that he may have had. Brock was _jealous_.

"Brock," Tyson said seriously, cloud of lust aside. "Nattie and I are just friends, that's all. In fact, if you think about it, that's all that we ever were. Friends." Tyson finished softly.

"You always talk about her like you're still in a relationship." Brock's words had a bit of a bite to them, but Tyson could hear the hurt underneath them. Not that Brock would ever confess to that, of course.

"Nattie says the same about you. She can't shut me up about you." Tyson said with a small smile.

Brock smirked, but didn't comment.

Now that Tyson was fully stretched, Brock removed the fingers from Tyson's ass and slicked his own cock. Tyson had to wonder when Brock had freed it in the first place. But it was fully erect, standing there at attention and pulsing to the frantic, erratic beats of Brock's heart. Lining himself up with the entrance into his younger lover, he waited a beat, and then thrust himself in to the hilt. Tyson screamed, feeling himself tear deliciously as Brock filled him totally.

Brock thrust fast and hard, loving the feel of being inside of his lover after so much time spent apart. He didn't realize the extreme emotional toll that had come from him transferring to MMA, but it was there and it was like fuel in the fire. Blindly, Brock's hand reached out and closed around Tyson's cock, milking him to completion with almost brutal intensity. With a startled, ecstatic cry, he came. Semen spluttered over his flat stomach.

His anal muscles clamped down on Brock's cock and he came soon after, filling Tyson to the brim and, with an obnoxious squelching, watching it overflow. He pulled out, reveling in the sticky wonderfulness of the summer heat on his back. The once dreaded humidity was now welcome as he rolled over onto his side, the picnic blanket clinging distinctly to his skin. Leaning over, he kissed Tyson's forehead.

Tyson rolled over and smiled at Brock, before he rested his head on the broader man's shoulders. "I love you, Brock."

"Love you too, Tyson." Brock answered distractedly. The meaning was there, but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. Maybe it was on his impending match with Triple H at SummerSlam, or maybe it was on what he had done to Shawn Michaels.

_No matter what you do_, Tyson mused, _I will love you as long as there are stars in the sky._


	11. JustinTyson 'Ass'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash  
**Dedication:** FreshAdobo

* * *

Justin watched as his lover painfully rolled his neck back and forth to try and relieve some of the tension. "You okay there, Tyson?" He asked concern lacing his tone.

Tyson jumped, startled. "What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine." A dark flush claimed his cheeks and he was forced to look away.

"You sure, man? You took the brunt of that neck breaker out there and, to be totally honest, you don't look too hot." It was meant to be a joke, but there was worry there too.

Tyson forced a smile. "I'm fine, man. I promise."

Realizing he wasn't going to get much further with the other high-flyer, Justin sighed. "I'm gonna go take a shower. Wanna join me?"

Tyson smirked at Justin's poorly concealed intentions. "Sure. I'll be there in a minute."

Justin shot him one last skeptical look, before he took his shampoo, body wash, and towel, and started to make his way toward the shower. Tyson watched him leave, his eyes glued to Gabriel's black and green clad ass. With a sigh, he turned back around to face the lockers and buried his face in his hands. This entire situation was getting out of hand. Normally, his adoration for Gabriel's perfect body (most notably, his posterior) was much appreciated by the African. But now? Now it had started to cost them matches, and he didn't know what to do about it.

Like today, for example. He had taken a brutal punishment from Damien Sandow, but had somehow managed to create a brief break to tag in Justin. Only Justin wasn't there. The other high-flyer was on his way to the other side of the ring to prevent Cody from interfering with the match. All was going well until Cody hooked a hand into Justin's trunks, revealing just enough skin to show the beginning of a pearly white thong (and to send Tyson's mind into overdrive), and suplexed him onto the stairs. This gave Damien just enough time to perform the 'Elbow of Disdain', followed by a neck breaker for the win.

In a way, he supposed, it was understandable that he was so distracted by Tyson's body. After Justin was injured at WrestleMania, both men had pretty much returned to singles competition. So, Tyson just wasn't used to having that much of Justin's skin available to him and _not_ be able to touch it. At least, not in the way that he wanted to. Tyson was pretty sure that, not only would both men be fired immediately, but it would also traumatize the unfortunate children that witnessed it for life. No, it was better to keep that kind of affection for behind closed doors.

Tyson was startled out of his silent reverie by a wet tap on the shoulder. "Wow. You're done with your shower already?"

Justin's wide, chocolate eyes were filled with disbelief. "Already? Tyson, it's been half an hour."

Sheepishly, Tyson replied, "Oh, it has? Sorry."

"What's gotten into you today? You're not acting like yourself."

Tyson's eyes flickered up, saw Justin drop his towel, and went back to his trembling hands. "Nothing. I'm just a little out of it, that's all."

Justin used the towel to dry his sopping hair, before he abandoned it on the bench and started to root around for his street clothes. He didn't miss the not-so-subtle jerk of Tyson's head as he watched Justin slide into a pair of underwear and then into a pair of old, tattered jeans. It was only when a small noise, almost like a whimper, came from his lover's direction that Justin finally turned around. And he was shocked (to say the least) at what he saw. Tyson sat, legs apart, on the bench, his erection straining against the front of his trunks and a steady stream of pre-cum staining the front of them.

Justin licked his lips, which were suddenly incredibly dry. "Is there something that you wanted to tell me, Tyson? It's not like you've never seen me naked before."

"I… um… I…" Tyson stuttered out.

"Is this what was bothering you before, about the match?" Justin asked.

Tyson blushed and looked down, ashamed of himself. He swallowed hard, "Yes."

Justin smiled comfortingly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, baby. Do you want me to take care of it for you?" He asked.

Tyson's blush darkened to a deep beet-red. "Yes."

Justin didn't need any further encouragement. Still shirtless, clad only in a pair of loose-fitting jeans (they were probably Tyson's, not that the brunette was complaining), he hooked his fingers into Tyson's trunks and slowly brought them down and off, followed closely by his thong. Now, his erect cock stood at attention. It throbbed with the erratic beat of his heart. The heat was engorged, overly sensitive, and purple, while the rest was red and hot. Teasingly, Justin leaned forward and flicked his tongue over the slit. Tyson moaned and bucked his hips so hard he nearly threw himself off the bench.

Anchoring Tyson down onto the bench, Justin leaned down and only took the purple head into his moist cavern. He could feel Tyson's hips slowly churn beneath his hands with every gyration of his tongue, but he made sure to keep applying that gentle pressure to keep him grounded. Finally, he went all the way down. Tyson's scream was stifled as Justin hurriedly stuffed three fingers into his mouth and urged him to suck. Tyson's tongue swerved over the long digits, tasting each one in turn and making sure each was evenly coated in saliva.

Justin moaned, the sensation causing little sparks of pleasure to shoot up his spine like fireworks. He loosened his hold momentarily and Tyson started to thrust into Justin's mouth, but this time the African was ready. He took all of the abuse that the brunette was ready to dish out, loving every minute of it. It had been so long since they had done this. It felt so right, so _good_. He was so _close_! _So… damn… close!_ Justin removed his fingers.

"Oh shit! Fuck! I'm g-g-gonna cum!" Tyson screamed. Seconds later, he erupted down Justin's throat.

Justin swallowed down all that he had to offer. When he finally went limp, Justin pulled off and asked, "Feel better now?"

"Much." Tyson agreed. "But what about you?" Tyson motioned to the noticeable bulge in Justin's jeans.

Justin leaned forward and told Tyson exactly _how_ he planned to rid himself of his erection. When he pulled back, Tyson was blushing. "Sound like a plan?"

"Definitely."


	12. JohnPunk 'Raining'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** T  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Fluff, mentioned Domestic Violence, etc.  
**Dedication:** CentonJunkFan23

* * *

The rain came down in torrents and masked his true emotions behind a wall of artificial tears. He stood there, outside the arena, and stared at the sky in total silence, mesmerized by the beauty of the storm. In a way, it was a cataclysmic beauty. He knew that it had the potential to culminate into absolute destruction, and maybe, in a way, that was one of the reasons why he found it so beautiful. It had two-faces, just like everyone else that he knew. Only these two faces he could relate to.

John Cena was by no means a perfect man. To the WWE Universe, he was their superhero, their saint. He could do no wrong in their eyes. But there was another side of him that the WWE Universe never saw. The side hopelessly devoted to _his_ reigning WWE Champion, CM Punk… but then, when they were alone, it was only Phil. John and Phil. There were no names, no titles, no fans, no controversies… just the two of them. And now, Vickie had taken that from him as well.

With the entire AJ Lee/John Cena scandal, Vickie had uprooted the groundwork that John had spent months… no, _years_ cultivating with Phil. It was an entire system of trust, of love and faith, and she had yanked that out from underneath him just as he started to lay the foundation of a house. The ring box that he had carried around for the last week and a half now felt heavy in his front pocket. Could he ask? _Should_ he ask? Those were two entirely different questions now.

And as John stared into the heavens, mesmerized by the destructive beauty that was the storm, he was able to separate the first face from the other. The first face, the mask, was like the show he put on for the WWE Universe every week. All smiles, jokes, and laughter. They would never be able to tell how truly miserable he was on the inside. And then there was the second face, the destruction. That was its secret, like when John showed his true colors and attacked Dolph.

With the warmth of the heavy downpour it was difficult to decipher whether or not he was crying, but John knew that he was. For a lot of reasons. Mainly for Phil, however. Phil, who hadn't talked to him… no, better yet, had barely _looked_ at him since AJ had first been fired because of this 'alleged' affair with a superstar. There was no truth behind the lie. It had _only_ been a business dinner. Besides, Phil should know that John only had eyes for _him_. But even Phil could be insecure…

A sudden surge of anger rose in him as he spun around and slammed his fist into the brick wall of the arena, relishing the temporary release it supplied him, followed all-too-soon by a burning in his knuckles as the skin burst open and they started to bleed. His hand throbbed and he wondered if he had broken it. No matter. It wasn't like there was anyone back at the hotel to care about it. John wasn't on the best of terms with most of the stars and hadn't talked to Randy in ages.

Carefully, he wiped off the wound on his 'Rise Above Cancer' t-shirt and turned his attention back to the storm, feeling a surge of calm wash over him. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe Phil would find someone who could love him better than John ever could. But then he scoffed at his own bold-faced lie. Who would he turn to? Dolph Ziggler? While the two had had a short fling in the past, that had ended on an abusive note that John didn't want in his peaceful water symphony.

No. In the end, John realized that, no matter how obscure of a couple they may seem, they were perfect for each other. For every little oddity about Phil, there was an obscurity about John to match it. As Phil would say, _the Batman to his Joker_. This, of course, would lead into an entire discussion about why Phil was a psychotic maniacal Prince of Crime, but that was a trip down memory lane for another day. Besides, if his eyes did not deceive him, he had company.

Phil shuffled over to him, still dressed in his boots, that obnoxious white gauze wrapped firmly around his stomach. His tattooed hands were stuffed deep into his pockets. "Is there a reason you wanted to develop hypothermia?"

John turned to him, his eyes blank and emotionless. His eyes mirrored Phil's almost obscenely. "I just needed somewhere to think, that's all." He said softly. Phil could barely hear him above the storm.

Phil tilted his head to the side. "About what?"

"This whole mess with AJ and how it has affected you."

Phil sucked in a deep breath and looked away. But not before his eyes caught John's bleeding hand. "You're a mess, you know that, Cena? Sometimes, I think that you'd just fall apart at the seams without me."

John forced a little smile. "I probably would." His eyes widened a bit and flickered with an unidentifiable emotion as Phil reached out and took hold of his hand. "What are you doing?"

"Checking to make sure that you haven't broken anything." Phil said distractedly. He moved John's hand around and John had to hold back a low moan as his hand popped and grinded. "You're lucky. You just scratched your knuckles."

John watched as Phil fawned over his hand. "Does this mean that you've forgiven me?" He asked hopefully. Maybe it was too much to hope for, or maybe it was exactly what Phil had in mind.

Phil blinked, before he answered distantly. "Maybe."

John nodded, but couldn't help but ask, "Maybe as in…"

Phil looked up through his lashes. "It's a step in the right direction."

In John's book, that was as good of a promise as any.


	13. JohnPhilMike 'Strawberries & Relaxation'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warnings: **Slash, Threesome, etc.  
**Dedication:** RockyCodyAJWadeWifey21

* * *

Phil threw himself face-first onto the mattress and let out an uncomfortable mewl as his back cracked obscenely, an after-effect of a second brutal match with Ryback in less than thirty days. It would take more than a month for him to recover from this one. He shifted a little so that his stomach was on a pillow, if only to make sure that his hips wouldn't sink and put more strain on his back. There was no need to add to the strain there, anyhow.

He had successfully retained his WWE title for one year. 365 days. But his match, well, it had ended in controversy. Ryback had been so pissed off that, after the cameras stopped rolling, he had started to vent his rage on Phil backstage. If it wasn't for the arrival of Phil's older lover, John Cena, it was quite possible that Phil's career could have ended that night. Now, he bore a smartly burning mark from where his back had collided with a hot plate in catering.

Cena walked into the room and took a seat beside him on the bed. He tossed a new bottle of massage oil in front of Phil's face and Phil fumbled to catch it. Carefully, he undid the packaging and handed it back to Cena. Meanwhile, the brunette tentatively peeled away the cover he had put on Phil's shoulder and stared at the reddened, wrinkled skin. Slowly, he leaned down and traced a circle around it with his tongue. And then, blowing cool air on it, earned a shiver.

"You like that, Philly?" John asked lowly. Phil only hummed, half unconscious and unable to form coherent words. So John leaned back and drizzled some of the strawberry-scented massage oil onto his hand and worked it into his back.

"I heard what happened! Is he okay?" Mike stormed into the hotel room, breathless. He sounded winded, like he had run the half-mile from the arena to the hotel. "Oh God, Phil. That brute did a _number_ on you."

"Thanks for remindin' me…" Phil slurred his eyes too heavy to remain open. He stretched out and let John work wonders on the small of his back, occasionally muttering orders of 'not too hard' and 'right _there_'.

Mike turned to his other lover and smirked. "I also saw your handiwork. I don't think that Ryback is gonna like waking up tomorrow to find _another_ black eye."

John frowned the heel of his palm catching a particularly hard knot in Phil's back. Phil yelped and John was instantly apologetic. "I'm sorry, baby." And then, he turned to Mike. "Yeah, well, he should learn to keep his hands off of Phil."

"Are you kidding? I'm not about to let him out of my sight until that mess on his shoulder clears up." Phil cleared his throat, as if to remind them that he was still there. "But someone needs to take care of this before it gets out of hand."

John raised an eyebrow. "I think that we're well beyond the point of 'getting out of hand'."

"Ryback is bigger than Phil. He could seriously hurt him." Mike said.

"…Guys, I'm still _here_. Contrary to popular belief, I can still _hear_…"

"And what am _I_ supposed to do about that? He's bigger than me too! In case you didn't realize it, we _both_ got our assess kicked out there! The only reason we can both still walk is because of those NXT rookies."

Mike sighed. But then, he blinked, suddenly confused. "Did you just admit that three rookies did what Super-Cena couldn't do? I never thought the day would come!"

"…But you two are going to continue to ignore me and act like I don't exist…"

John rolled his eyes. "Ryback is a monster. It would take three of _me_ just to match one of _him_. That's not me admitting that three rookies are better than me. That's me stating the _obvious_. They got lucky."

"…Luck is for losers…"

"Do you hear something, John?" Mike teased, having heard Phil's added commentary the entire time.

"I _do_. It sounds kinda like the annoying little buzz of a fly. You know where the fly swatter is, Mike?"

"…Fly? What the fuck? I'm am _not_ a fly!" Phil screamed at his two lovers.

John and Mike could barely contain their laughter as they turned back to their irate lover, who was now, quite loudly, plotting out all of the ways that he would make them burn. That was what broke the dam for John. Carefully, he went back to working the tension out of Phil's lower back. Meanwhile, Mike started to undress. His clothes were still wet from his recent shower and it was a little chilly in the room. He didn't want to catch a chill.

A sinister smile was shared between them as John handed over the bottle of massage oil, whispering to Phil that it was Mike's turn to help him relax. Phil only grumbled on about how they were both sick motherfuckers who got a thrill out of seeing him in pain. Mike rolled his eyes, but made sure that his girth was completely slick before he slid into Phil's unprepared entrance. Phil bit back a howl of pain and every knot that had been broken reformed.

"How the fuck is this supposed to help me relax?" Phil screamed, biting his lip so hard that it bled.

"Shh," tenderly, John rubbed strong circles into his back with the heel of his palm. And then, walking around to the head of the bed, he took a seat and unzipped his jean shorts. "Why don't you put that dirty mouth of yours to use?"

Once Phil started to relax around Mike, Mike eased out until only the head remained and drizzled some more massage oil onto his now heavily erect cock. He didn't want to tear his baby after the hell that he had been through tonight. And then, he slid back in, pushing Phil's hips down into the pillow. Phil moaned, gargling around John's cock as he tried his best to not choke as he was rocked back and forth.

As Phil continued to relax around him, allowing him further inside, Mike started to snap his hips harder. Phil winced as his back cracked loudly, but then, oddly enough, a flood of relief washed over him as all of the tension flooded out of him and his body was fluid, like water. Propping himself up on his elbows, he took John's sac in his hand and fondled his balls, sucking harder and trying to bring John to completion.

Mike started to move faster, gaining speed and gently applying pressure to Phil's hips so that his own erection brushed against the sheets. Finally, with a choked scream, Phil came. Black dots danced before his eyes and he let out a loud, drawn out hum of satisfaction that brought John over the brink as well. And when Phil's channel clenched down around Mike, Mike emptied himself into Phil's prone body.

Mike pulled out and carefully moved Phil over so that he was in the middle of the bed. He couldn't roll over onto his back yet, so he stayed on his pillow. "How do you feel, baby?" Mike asked softly.

The only answer he received was a slight snore, so Mike carefully moved Phil's face away from the pillow and tucked him in. The other two shared a look, before they climbed into bed beside him. Plans for how to deal with Ryback could wait until tomorrow.


	14. KaneZack Guest Starring: Nell 'Cookies'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone, other than Nell.  
**Rated:** T  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Fluff, etc.  
**Dedication:** LCHime

* * *

"Well, these are…" Kane took one of the freshly baked cookies and looked it over carefully.

"…I'm sure that they're absolutely delicious, Nell…" Zack trailed off, almost as wary as Kane.

"Delicious? Are you out of your -," tears started to well in the seven-year-olds eyes. "I mean, of_ course_ they'll be delicious."

Zack set the cookie back down onto the tray. "They're so delicious that I don't want to spoil my appetite and eat too many before dinner. How about we have some after we eat?"

Nell shook her head, that sweet smile never fading. The tears in her chocolate eyes had vanished. "No, silly. I've seen how much the two of you eat for dinner. You have room for one little cookie."

"Well, um, about that…" Zack trailed off, out of ideas.

This time, Kane made the save. "I can't eat them because I've… started a diet. Yeah… that. I can't have any sweets anymore. It's bad for my health." Kane breathed in relief as Nell seemed to accept that.

But then, her smile turned sickly sweet. She handed him the recipe that she had used. "Uncle JoMo has to watch his sugar too, 'cause Uncle Mike says he has a fear of being unattractive. That's why the recipe is sugar-free."

"Shit…" Kane mumbled underneath his breath.

"Oh, Mommy! Daddy said a bad word!" Nell jabbed her little finger in Kane's direction, before she ran over to Zack.

Zack batted his eyelashes and forced a smile, biting out between his truth, "Just eat the damn cookie, Kane."

"Maybe I don't _want_ to eat the cookie, Zack." Kane bit back.

"You want to break Nell's fragile, developing self-esteem?" Zack pulled the psychology card.

"Do you want to kill me?" Kane asked.

As their little back and forth continued, Nell climbed onto the counter and took one of the cookies from the rim of the plate. These cookies had turned out a little better than the ones in the middle. Also, these were a different flavor. The ones on the rim were vanilla, while the ones in the middle were chocolate chip. And while Nell had baked all of the cookies, Mike had been the one to mix the batter from the chocolate chip cookies. He had even added a 'special' ingredient.

The bickering stopped completely when both men noticed Nell, sitting on the counter, happily munching on her sugar cookie. Maybe they weren't lethal after all… or maybe, she had found the one defective cookie in the batch. The rest of them still had the potential to be radioactive, or even nuclear. They should turn off the lights to test if they glowed in the dark, because they certainly didn't look like _normal_ cookies. Nonchalantly, Nell reached forward and took another cookie.

Two could be coincidental, but when she took a third, it was hard to deny the evidence. Children tended to have a weaker constitution then a seasoned wrestler, so she would've been sick by now if they would have killed her. With a shrug, Zack reached out and took one of the chocolate chip cookies. It was small, so he was able to take it all into his mouth at once. He chomped down on it, waiting for the worst. He received nothing. And after a minute, Kane took a sugar cookie as well.

* * *

Zack fell back on the bed, breathless. The fire in his veins was now satiated, but only after four rounds of nearly violent sex. There was no doubt in his mind as to what had made those chocolate chip cookies look so abnormal. The _Awesome_ One had put an aphrodisiac into the batter. He could have killed him, if he wasn't so exhausted. And Kane, well, Kane was almost catatonic. He fell down on the bed beside Zack, his arm falling heavily across Zack's chest.

Sweaty and sticky, Zack rolled out from underneath Kane's arm and climbed on top of the blankets. A cool blast of air from the air-conditioner hit his naked flesh full-force and he could barely contain a shiver. Before their four heated bouts of lovemaking, Kane had taken it upon himself to throw all of the cookies into the trashcan. He didn't want Nell to get her little hands on the 'tainted' chocolate chip cookies. But, he _did_ have to admit, their affect on Zack was fucking _hot_.

"Hey, Kane?" Zack was still breathing heavily. His skin was hot and red and Kane reached over, turning on the nearest fan and twisting it around so that it blew cold air on Zack.

"What is it, baby?" Kane asked, brushing Zack's hair away from his face. "You still feeling feverish?" Zack shook his head and Kane felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank God. As much as I love you, I'm not sure I could take much more of that."

"Funny. No, it's not that. Actually, I wanted to tell you to remind me to thank Mike next time we see him." Kane raised an eyebrow. "And then kill him and tell him to stop tainting our precious baby's innocent brain."

Kane laughed, rolling onto his back and drawing Zack into his chest. "It's not her fault her Uncle is a pervert."

"Nah, but it _is_ his fault that I'm not going to be able to walk for a week. For being a tired old man, you certainly can _move_." A dark blush dusted across his cheeks and he looked away.

"I am not _old_." But there was no real malice behind it, "And when you kill Mike, I want to be there."

Zack raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Who else will record it all for the enjoyment of the WWE Universe?" And both shared a laugh about it.

* * *

**A/N: Just a short little ficlet. Nothing too heavy. I hope that you all enjoyed and I'll try to update more frequently. I took a bad fall last week and messed up my hip, but it's getting better. Hopefully I'll be back to 100% soon!**


	15. BrodusRicardo 'Insecure'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** T  
**Warning(s): **Slash, Domestic Violence, etc.  
**Dedication:** Ms. Kinnikufan

* * *

Brodus had always been fascinated by Alberto Del Rio's announcer, Ricardo. The boy was undeniably sweet, with an undertone of naivety and innocence that seemed to draw Brodus to him. But Brodus had never dared to draw too close to the announcer. From the way that he subconsciously erected his back when Alberto was around to throwing himself in front of Sheamus deadly kick, Brodus knew that the boy was blindly loyal to his boss. Maybe, he loved him.

But then, there was another side of Ricardo that only Brodus saw. In the back, the Divas would lightly joke about how 'fluffy' the poor boy looked in his suit. It wasn't meant to be rude, but Brodus saw the way Ricardo's eyes hazed over when he heard. Or when Alberto would toss him around like some kind of doll, Ricardo would grin and bear it. He _was_ his boss, after all. However, Brodus knew that it was more than that. Ricardo was unbearably insecure.

Wherever Ricardo was, no matter whom he was around, it seemed as if _someone_ had something bad to say about the boy. Even if it wasn't meant to be an insult, Ricardo could read between the lines. The WWE Universe didn't give him that much credit. He wasn't actually the asshole that he acted like on screen. Behind closed doors, he was sweet and considerate. _That_ was the Ricardo that Brodus had fallen in love with. _Love_. Yes, that was what he felt for Ricardo.

Now, he watched as Alberto chastised Ricardo for leaving the keys to his car in the ignition. In the end, it was his fault that Sheamus was able to take the car and drive it God-knows-where. And now, there was vomit on the seats, mud on the paint, and traffic cones inside. And because this was Ricardo's fault, he would have the lovely task of cleaning it all before he would be allowed to come back to their hotel room. And then Alberto left to find Rosa Mendez.

Brodus took the chance to walk over to Ricardo, who looked at the car sullenly. He seemed at a loss for what to do first. "Need some help with that?" Brodus asked.

Ricardo nearly jumped out of his skin. Hurriedly, he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. "Oh, this? No, I'm fine. I just… I need to find a trashcan, that's all." It was a lie and both of them knew it.

Brodus motioned behind him. "There's a trashcan right over there." He said with a small smile, but then it melted when he saw the redness around Ricardo's eyes. "Is there something that you want to talk about, Ricardo?"

"Who, me? No." Ricardo hurriedly shook his head. "No, I'm fine." He started to pick the fast-food trash out of the front seat and carry it over to the trashcan. "It's going to take me forever to finish this…"

"Are you sure that you don't want some help with that, kid?" Brodus asked. Ricardo took the cone out of the front seat and tossed it elsewhere, before he flinched back at the rank stench of vomit.

Ricardo turned to him with a hesitant little smile. "Maybe I was a little hasty to turn you down. Could you maybe get a sponge and some hot, soapy water? I don't want any of this to stain the car."

Brodus nodded. "Sure. I'll be back in a second, okay?" Ricardo nodded and watched as he walked off to retrieve a bucket and sponge.

When Brodus returned, they set to work. Ricardo donned a pair of gloves and started to scrub the vinyl, while Brodus worked on erasing the mud stains from the outside of the car. It was hard work, but Brodus was certain that there was no way that the smaller man would have been able to do it by himself. That and it wouldn't have been fair to _ask_ him to do it by himself. The boy would have never been able to return to the hotel and sleep off the after-effects of the day.

It was only when Ricardo started to overheat and he took off his suit jacket and rolled back his sleeves that Brodus noticed the ugly bruises that marred his mocha skin. There was no doubt in his mind that Alberto had been the one to cause those. It made him sick to think about it, but it wasn't hard. When Ricardo caught his overly-studious look, he flinched away and stared down at the little sliver of car that he had been working on. That old insecurity was back.

"Can I ask you a question, Ricardo? It would be just between us, man to man." Brodus stared into the younger man's eyes. After a moment, Ricardo tore his eyes away.

Ricardo swallowed hard and nodded forcefully. He still couldn't force himself to look into the older man's eyes. "Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Why do you let Alberto do this to you? You deserve so much better than this." Brodus said. "Nobody should be allowed to hurt you the way that Alberto has."

Ricardo blushed hard and focused his eyes on the floor. "This is what I deserve."

"No, that's _not_ what you deserve. You deserve so much better than this." Brodus insisted.

"How would you know? It's not like _you_ care about me. You or anyone else."

Brodus shook his head. "No, Ricardo. That's where you're wrong."

"What do you -,"

But before Ricardo could finish, Brodus leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn't the way that he had always imagined his first kiss with the younger man. In all of his fantasies, he had imagined it as being heated, passionate, and loving. He would show Ricardo just _how_ much he meant to him, that he could treat him so much better than Alberto ever could. But _this_, he soon discovered, was much better than that within his fantasies.

Ricardo, at first, was hesitant. However, after a moment, he melted into the bigger man's embrace. All of the insecurities that he had felt a moment before melted away and he just felt like… _himself_. There was no other way to describe it. When Brodus drew back, it felt as if something had been yanked from within him. He didn't realize how much he wanted, no, how much he _needed_ that until Brodus drew back.

"You couldn't be more confused, Ricardo. I don't _care_ about you, no." Ricardo tensed and, though he would deny it, tears brewed in his chocolate brown eyes. "It's more than that."

Ricardo looked at him uncertainly. "How much more?"

"Well," Brodus brushed the stray hairs out from in front of Ricardo's face. "Let's put it this way. I love you, kid. I have for awhile now. And I'm willing to wait for as long as it takes for you to love me too."

Ricardo's uncertainty blossomed into a shy smile. "You won't have to wait very long."

Brodus raised an eyebrow. "How come?"

"Because I think I love you too."


	16. SheamusRicardo 'Compassion'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** T  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Domestic Violence, etc.  
**Dedication:** LadyWeimer

* * *

"You think you can lay your hands on him and nobody will have the balls to say a word about it? If that's the case, then… well, fella, you've been livin' a delusion. I don't mean to burst your bubble, but…"

Alberto chose that moment to foolishly break into the conversation. "Who the hell do you think that you are, Sheamus? I am _Alberto Del Rio_ and my personal affairs are no business of yours."

Sheamus narrowed his dark, mercury eyes at the smaller man. Alberto swallowed hard and looked away. "It ain't my business, fella, until you strike Ricardo in front of the entire WWE Universe and walk away nonchalantly.

"He deserved it." Alberto spat in Sheamus' face. "He's been in this position for how many years and he _still_ can't do his job correctly? Sometimes, he needs to be reminded of where his place is. At the _bottom_ of the ladder."

Sheamus took Alberto by the hair and smashed his head into the hard, stone wall. Blood bubbled to the surface and coated the wall and Sheamus' pale hand. "I would shut yer mouth before I shut it _for_ you."

Alberto sneered. Sheamus realized with a hint of disgust that his teeth were coated in blood. "Is that a threat or a promise?" Sheamus knew the look in his eyes. It screamed 'you and what army, buddy'?

"Oh, trust me, it's a _promise_." The malicious glimmer in Sheamus' eyes made Alberto swallow hard once more. "As of today, Ricardo doesn't work for you anymore."

Alberto stared at him, his anger melting away into disbelief. "You… You can't do that! He's not your employee! What makes you think that you can take him from me?" And then, a cocky smirk formed. "You can't, can you?"

But this time, Sheamus smirked as well. Obviously, Alberto didn't realize how many connections Sheamus had behind-the-scenes. "I talked with Vince McMahon. After he heard what you did, he relieved Ricardo's contract."

Alberto's eyes misted over as a certain sadness came over him, but Sheamus knew that it was all a façade. Sheamus was certain that Alberto wasn't capable of _real_ sadness, unless, of course, it revolved around himself. Alberto couldn't feel bad about what he had done to Ricardo because he didn't _care_ about Ricardo. As much as it hurt for Sheamus to admit it, it seemed like a lot of people didn't care about the innocent (or less-than-innocent) announcer.

But then, Alberto started to laugh. It was a sick, broken sound. Sheamus couldn't take it. He tightened his hold in Alberto's hair and smashed his head on the wall once more. This time, the blow knocked him out cold. Sheamus released him and watched with satisfaction as he fell to his knees, and then fell forward, his body strewn uncomfortably on the floor. Sheamus looked around, but there was nobody around to assist him.

In the end, he left him there alone. Once Alberto came to, Sheamus was confident that he would be able to take care of himself. Ricardo, on the other hand, was a different story. The sweet announcer was still in shock and refused to speak a word since the incident occurred. Sheamus, reluctant to leave him in the arena, where he is susceptible to the ridicule of the other stars, had taken him back to his hotel room. And, right now, he needed him more.

* * *

When Sheamus entered the hotel room, he found Ricardo seated at the head of his bed. He was still dressed as he had been for the show. His clothes were wrinkled from when he had taken that nasty fall and his hair was tousled from when Alberto had grabbed him to throw him around a little bit. And all of this had been done in front of the WWE Universe. Now, Vince McMahon would have no choice but to confront the fact that Alberto needed anger counseling.

Sheamus changed out of his clothes and into his pajamas, shameless from years of changing in front of the other men, but not quite remembering that Alberto had kept Ricardo innocent of all of that. It was like Ricardo had been kept in a vacuum. There was really no other way to describe it. A vacuum that was stamped and sealed with his 'place on the ladder', as Alberto had called it. Sheamus couldn't believe how closed-minded the other man could be.

He had ordered room service earlier. Now, he fixed Ricardo some herbal tea and handed the mug over to the smaller man. Eyes flickered up to him, a small, bashful smile formed, but no words were said. He slid into the bed beside the smaller man and pulled the covers up over them. Ricardo, wide-eyed and now a little bit scared, looked at him in hopeful disbelief. Surely, Sheamus wouldn't rape or assault him after all that he had been through tonight?

"Don't worry, fella. I don't wanna hurt ya." Sheamus yawned. His accent was always a little thicker when he was tired. "I'm just here to make you feel better."

A flood of relief filled those beautiful chocolate eyes as he turned back to his tea, nursing it slowly.

"You really don't want to talk about what it was that caused Alberto to do that to you?" A stubborn shake of the head. "And that is perfectly okay. I never want you to feel as if you've been backed into a corner."

Ricardo's innocent confusion made his heart flutter. He forced a smile for the boy's sake.

"I took care of Alberto for you. I know that you don't see it now, but you'll thank me for it later. Until then, I'm willing to accept the hate. I can embrace it, because I know that I did what is best for you."

Ricardo's eyes widened. His hands clenched around the coffee mug.

Sheamus noticed this. He looked at the smaller man, concerned. "Ricardo?"

Ricardo leaned over and rested his head on Sheamus' shoulder. It was such a simple gesture, but at the same time, incredibly profound. "Thank you."


	17. JohnRyback 'Domination'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** M  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Dom/sub, Chains, Gags, Belts, Paddles, etc.  
**Dedication:** Waldron82

* * *

It was no secret that Ryback was an animal. To the outside viewer, he was a relentless beast with an insatiable hunger for the weak-minded wrestlers of the WWE. It was in his nature to dominate and destroy. But that didn't mean that he was incapable of compassion or sorrow. And after he found out that Phil had been injured after their brief, albeit volatile encounter on RAW, he felt a bizarre mixture of both. His behavior made him nauseous.

Ryback had never been one to dwell on the mistakes that he made. He had learned to think of mistakes like stepping stones, you can't move forward until you've made a few of them. But for some reason, this one stuck. He had _seriously_ injured Phil. He could have ended the WWE Champion's career. Now, for the first time, he realized that he actually felt bad about what he had done. No, it was worse than that. He felt _awful_.

There was only one way for him to fix this. He was aware of the fact that his lover, John, was also disappointed in the way that he had reacted to Phil's instigation. As much as John couldn't stand the man that his once-friend had become, he certainly didn't want to see his career shortened by such a painful injury. But John had taken a step back and had waited for Ryback to realize the mistake for himself. Now, all he needed was a solution.

This, of course, was how he arrived outside of his lover's hotel room, a little worse for wear. He had a nervous look on his face as he debated knocking on the door or just walking away. It was late, after all. But he knew that this was what he needed. John would take care of him, as he always did. Behind closed doors, there was an unusual dynamic between them. With John, Ryback didn't _need_ to be the dominate one. He could hand that control over to John.

In a way, it made him feel safe. He had never felt this way for anyone else. When John controlled him, it didn't feel as if he had taken his control away. No, it was different. Ryback could only be so dominating in the ring because he knew that that control wasn't his alone. The one who _really_ held the cards was John. He had from the very start. Now, all he had to do was collect himself enough to knock on the door…

* * *

John stared down at his lover's body, which was contorted in an awkward manner upon his Queen-sized bed. Thick, rope-link chains bound him to the headboard and a messy red ball-gag kept him silent. From the way that his body was contorted, all of that beautiful muscle would become a hindrance. It would cause unwanted strain on his back and only make this more uncomfortable. But that was what John wanted. That was part of the control.

He walked around the bed, his belt wound loosely in his hand. He stared at Ryback's already reddened back, the marks from their last session still apparent. All of it would be covered by his wrestling attire, no doubt, but still… it was a marvel to look at. Carefully, he stretched one hand out, tracing over the lines in reverent awe. Ryback flinched, pain evident on his features. But neither man was fooled. Ryback thrived for pain. It was part of what made the monster.

John brought the belt down on one of the fresher marks. Ryback howled behind the ball-gag. "Did it make you feel like a man to throw him through a table, Ryan? To crush his body with a steel chair? Hmm?"

Ryback moaned, shifting blindly to try and alleviate some of the burning pressure in his lower back. _Whack!_

"Oh, no. Don't think that I intend to let you off easy for this. You came to me because you wanted to be punished, you wanted discipline. So either man up or leave – it's your call."

When Ryback didn't move, John smirked. "That's what I thought." He brought the belt down once more, _whack_, a solid strike between the shoulder blades. "Are you sorry for what you did to Phil?"

Ryback made some sort of noise in the back of his throat, but that didn't appease John. _Whack_! "Well, Ryan? When I ask you a question, I expect an answer!"

Ryan nodded hurriedly, afraid to upset the older man further. _Whack_! This time, the strike was softer.

"Phil may be an asshole, Ryan. And hell, I'll admit that I've wanted to deck him more than once. But sometimes, we need to accept the fact that we can't win every battle. And that's the lesson that I'm going to teach you tonight."

John set the belt down beside Ryback's prone body and walked around to the foot of the bed, where he kept their 'special trunk'. Inside where items that were to be used on occasions such as these. John unlocked the trunk and reached inside, selecting a long, sleek vibrator and his favorite paddle. It had his initials on it in large bubble letters, so every time it came in contact with Ryback's ass, it left an obnoxious red mark in its wake.

Moving back to where Ryback lay, John carefully slid the chains that held his ankles apart and eased the dildo into his unprepared hole. He could hear Ryback's hurried intake of breath, even from behind the ball-gag. A small smile formed as the dull curve of the head brushed over his prostate. And then, flipping the switch onto 'low', he retrieved the paddle. He twirled it in his hand a few times, admiring how it felt.

After a moment, he brought it down on Ryback's ass with such force that the bigger man rocked forward in his confines. His erection brushed against the course material of the blanket and the vibrator further impaled him. _One_. With a satisfied smirk, he brought the paddle down hard on the other cheek. _Two_. Ryback lost count after twenty-five. John was obviously furious and was in no mood to hold back. Ryback didn't blame him.

"You took your punishment well, baby." John later revealed that it had been thirty-six swats to his bare ass. "What do you say we take it to the next level?"

Ryback let out a confused moan. _Whack_! The belt cracked across his back once more.

"Do you want to be forgiven or not?" John hissed. Ryback knew that if he messed up now, all of this would be in vain. If John felt disrespected, none of this would matter.

Ryback nodded hurriedly. For his efforts, he received a smart bite to the junction between his neck and shoulder.

"That's what I thought." John's smirk broadened as he reached down and tweaked the knob on the vibrator up one notch. Ryback's body jolted. "And I have one more surprise for you, baby. I think you'll like it."

John walked around to the trunk once more and retrieved a maroon cock ring and a silk blindfold. Slithering up to the head of the bed, he undid the ball-gag and let it fall to the pillow beneath them, before he brushed it aside. In its stead, he tied the blindfold over Ryback's eyes and let his head fall back down to the pillow. Tracing one hand down his reddened back and over his flaming ass, he made his way back down to Ryback's middle.

Once there, he reached underneath of the muscular body and took hold of his engorged erection. Ryback howled, now free to vocalize the pleasure-pain that John was inflicting on him. John smirked, giving a smart tug to the cock before the slid the cock ring into place. Ryback's whine of displeasure was not unheard, however. As punishment, John reached behind him and turned the dial to the highest setting. Ryback had to bury his face to muffle his scream.

"Now, now, there's no need to hide those noises. I wanna hear you, baby. But do you know what I want even more?" Ryback shook his head, barely able to think coherently. "I want you to suck me off."

"Y-Yes…" Ryback stuttered, delirious with pleasure.

"What was that?" Cena asked, climbing back onto the pillow and weaving his way in-between the chains.

"Yes, sir." Ryback hurriedly corrected himself.

Cena smiled. "Much better."

Ryback leaned forward, circling his tongue over the head of John's cock. His tongue dove into the slit, sucking out all of the drops of pre-cum. And then, forcing himself further forward, he took as much of his master as he could without damaging the bed or his body. John's eyes rolled as Ryback raked his teeth over the sensitive vein that ran along the underside of his swollen cock. But just as he was about to cum, John forced him off.

"Want to cum inside of you, baby." John said levelly, as if he wasn't about to shoot his load all over his boyfriend's face. He offered Ryback a lazy smile as he slid off of the bed once more.

"Does this mean that I'm forgiven, sir?" Ryback asked, unable to hide the flicker of hope in his tone.

"Not yet." John took hold of the still vibrating dildo and eased it out of Ryback's trembling hole, eliciting a low moan from the monster. "Almost, but not yet. First, you have to demonstrate your control."

"How, sir?" Ryback asked.

"Let's see if you can sit there like a good little boy and not make a sound as I fuck you into the mattress."

Ryback's eyes widened. "But… but sir?"

"Starting now!" And in one fluid thrust, John slid into Ryback's prone body.

Ryback was barely able to muffle a scream as he shoved his face into the pillow. He would show his master that he had learned from his punishment. He would show him that he had matured. If he wanted him to apologize to Phil after this was over, then he could do that. Ryback was willing to do anything if it meant that he wouldn't be subjected to that look of disappointment in John's eyes again.

John set a fast and brutal pace, working Ryback into the mattress, just as he had promised he would. Ryback's nails tore into the mattress, sending tiny shreds of fluff in all directions. The pleasure was almost painful now. He was past the brink of release and he knew that the minute the ring was taken off, he would cum. John hammered into his prostate, his mammoth hands massaging the globes of his ass in slow circles.

John's pace quickened and Ryback knew that he was near the end. Still, he obeyed his master's orders. Not a sound left his mouth, not even when John's wandering hands slid around to his front and located his engorged, abandoned erection. In his head, fireworks went off. And that's when he felt his master's seed fill him. Spurt after spurt of hot cum filled his ass until, after several painful seconds, John pulled out.

"You were such a good boy, Ryan." The praise from his master felt wonderful after such a brutal punishment. "And good boys deserve to be rewarded. It's time to take off this nasty ring, huh?"

Ryback moaned his approval, unable to do much more.

John slid the ring off and watched in satisfaction as Ryback shot his load onto the blankets. All of the tension left his body and he relaxed. "Feels better, doesn't it?"

Ryback couldn't answer. He was already on his way to his own little dreamland.

John smiled down at him, before he undid the chains and tucked the larger man into bed. It was the aftercare that he liked the best. Just being able to take care of his baby when he needed him the most.

Before the younger man totally lost consciousness, John leaned down and whispered in his ear, "You're forgiven now." And he didn't miss the small smile that Ryback offered him before he fell asleep.


	18. MarkHunter 'Blindsided'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone.  
**Rated:** T  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Mpreg, etc.  
**Dedication:** oneeyedjill

* * *

Hunter curled into Mark's chest, still a bit dizzy from the vicious series of head-shots that he had taken in their earlier match. It certainly had lived up to its potential as 'the end of an era'. He had entered into that match confident that he would walk out victorious. He was certain that he would be the one to end the streak, that he would be the one to finally end the Undertaker. But Mark had shown him how erroneous that belief was.

"I want you to stop thinking about it." Mark rumbled. His fingers started to knot in the smaller man's tousled blond locks. "The match is over. You shouldn't still be stressed out over it."

Hunter closed his eyes. "That's easy for you to say. _You won the match_. I was… I was _so sure_ that I had the victory. Shawn was the ref. It was a Hell in a Cell match… and then you… _you _blindsided me!"

Mark ruffled his hair tiredly. He clearly was not in the mood to discuss this. "You look real cute when you're all worked up like this, you know that? But seriously, you need to calm down. The stress will feed the concussion."

Hunter was silent for a moment and Mark allowed himself to start to drift off to sleep once more. Finally, he continued, "It's just that… how could you help me after all that I had done to you? How could you do that?"

"Because you're my lover, but first and foremost, you're my friend. You worked your ass off to make it to the point where you could stand across from me as an equal and I respected that." Mark said, his eyes still closed.

Hunter swallowed hard. 'Taker, convinced that this conversation was over, settled himself back down in bed and turned onto his side, unconsciously pulling Hunter's body with him. The smaller man groaned in fake displeasure, before he buried his face in the strong crevice between Mark's shoulder blades. The scent of soap and something undeniably _Mark_ washed over him and a sense of safety filled him in a way he couldn't describe.

The words that Mark had said… Hunter knew them to be true. In all of the years that they had been together, Mark had never had reason to lie to him. Hunter had really started to believe that Mark didn't know _how_ to lie. For being known amidst the WWE as the dealer of death, when it came to Hunter, he wore his heart on his sleeve. Hunter nervously awaited the day when he would disrespect that trust, but thankfully, that day had never come.

"Mark…" he started in again, tentatively this time. He could feel Mark growl with displeasure beneath him.

Mark turned swollen, tired eyes to his boyfriend of seven years. "Look, Hunt. I may have said that you look cute, but that doesn't mean you can wake me up every five minutes to vent about the past. I… Need… Sleep."

Hunter felt anger boil inside of him as he shoved Mark on the chest, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough to send him sprawling out on the pillow. "No, I think that you _will_ listen to me. Neither of us will sleep 'till you do."

Mark stared at him lividly for a moment, but he didn't relent. Finally, he sighed. "Go ahead. It's your funeral."

"God, why do you have to make it so damn difficult to apologize to you? I just wanted to say that all of those insults I made about your streak, about your career… everything, really… I didn't mean it. But _damn_ if you didn't ruin it."

Mark blinked a few times, before he growled out, "Was that all you had to say?"

Hunter, suddenly breathless from his little outburst, nodded hurriedly. "Yeah. I think that that's it."

"Good. Now would you kindly allow me to go back to sleep?"

Hunter's eyes widened, but before he was allowed to say a word, Mark rolled over and buried his face into his pillow once more. Soft snores soon signified that the bigger man had fallen asleep. Hunter's heart leapt into his throat. He couldn't believe this! After he had laid his heart on the line for this man, he had turned his back on him and had fallen asleep! Hunter couldn't decide whether to be heartbroken or furious. He decided to be furious.

He shoved Mark a second time, but this time there was actual malice behind it. The older man let out a rather unmanly sound as he flew off of the bed in a mess of blankets and sheets. Seconds later, a loud _thump_ said that he had safely (or not quite safely) arrived at his predetermined destination. He leaned over the side of the bed, watching as he lover swam in the blankets, infuriated. Now he knew how Hunter felt.

"What the fuck was that for?" He growled. His eyes were alight with poorly concealed fury.

"I apologized to you and you turned your back on me, asshole! In case nobody ever told you, that's rude!"

Mark bit down onto his lower lip until blood bubbled to the surface. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and it was apparent that he would soon explode. "You didn't fucking _need_ to apologize! _That's_ why I didn't respond!"

It was Hunter's turn to be confused. "What?"

Mark sighed. "You're gonna make me be a bloody sap, aren't you?" He rubbed at his eyes in an irritated manner. "This isn't our first time around, Hunter. We've been together, on and off, for seven years."

Hunter smiled at the memory of their time together in the Attitude Era. That had to be some of the hottest sex he had ever had. Angry sex with the Undertaker after a brutal match was the _only_ way to unwind. "Yeah. I remember."

"I've never held storyline against you, because it's not your fault that some idiot wrote shit for you to say." Mark said. "You're given an idea and told to run with it. That's not your call."

"But still -," Mark cut him off.

"I wasn't finished." Hunter fell silent. "If you had come out of the thin air with an attack like that then, yeah, sure, I would be pissed. More than pissed, actually. But this one wasn't your fault, so I'm not mad."

Hunter reached down, helping the older man back into bed. "Sorry I pushed you over the side of the bed like that. The hormones tend to get the best of me sometimes."

Neither were knew to parenthood. Mark had two children with his ex-wife Sara and Hunter had three with his ex-wife, Stephanie McMahon. Out of the two of them, however, Mark had more hands-on experience when it came to children. Hunter was barely allowed to see the children ever since he had come out to Stephanie, while Mark had joint custody of the girls and was able to see them whenever he was in town.

"Don't worry." Mark said, pulling Hunter back into his chest and kissing his forehead. "You're only three months along. It'll only get worse from here."


	19. DamianCody 'Poetry'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone, other than Nessie, Isabel, and Brett. I also don't own the poem.  
**Rated:** T  
**Warning(s):** Slash, Mpreg, Fluff, etc..  
**Dedication:** SABweimer

* * *

**Monday**

"Mommy!" Isabel raced into the kitchen, her little hands totally covered in a thick, red muck. It bore an uncomfortable resemblance to blood. "Mommy! Mommy!" She latched onto Cody's leg and covered his pants in the sticky mess.

"Oh, dear God, Bell! Look at this mess!" Carefully, Cody picked her up. "You're not hurt, are you?" She shook her head, her smile never faltering. "Then what is all of _this_ from?"

"Oh, you would never believe it, Mommy! Nessie and I were playin' with our Barbie dolls – you know, the ones that change hair color and stuff – and Brett said he had magic stuff to change our hair color too, only he wanted to try it on Nessie."

Cody's heart sank. He had a bad feeling that he knew where this was going. "Uh huh, I'm sure that he did. Tell me, did we have the discussion about believing the bull – I mean, the little white lies your big brother tells?"

"Mmhmm." She nodded enthusiastically, totally oblivious. "So, we took some of the red sticky stuff and we put it in baby sister's hair. Only, she didn't like it too much. So we let put some sticky stuff on the wall too."

Cody sighed. "Tell me, sweetie, do you remember what the big name on the bottle of magic stuff was?" He was almost afraid to ask, but he knew that he had too.

"Tem… Temp… Temp…" She tried to form the word.

"Tempera?" Cody asked, dreading her answer.

Isabel nodded enthusiastically. "That was it!"

Of course. The only paint that didn't wash out of clothes, let alone out of a blonde child's _hair_. He led Isabel over to the sink and washed as much off of her hands as he could. "_MOMMY!"_ The scream came from upstairs.

Isabel looked up at him innocently. "Oh, and did I mention that her hands are stuck in her hair?"

**Tuesday**

"Mommy." Brett climbed into bed with Cody, shaking his 'mother's' shoulder carefully. His Daddy Damien had entrusted him as the man of the house until he returned later that week, so he had to watch out for their new, unborn sibling.

Cody looked out the corner of his eye. It was 2:50 AM. "What is it Brett? Unless you, or one of your sisters is dying, can you just go back to bed and ask me in the morning?" He slurred, already falling back asleep.

"Well, Mommy, it's about the window…" Brett trailed off, looking anywhere but at the sleeping form in the bed.

Cody was fully awake now, even if he wanted to be fast asleep. "What about the window, Brett?"

"I may have broken it." Brett answered.

Cody sighed. "How did you break the window, Brett?"

"I threw a baseball through it." Brett said. "But it wasn't my fault!" Of course it wasn't. "After all, Isabel was the one that couldn't sleep. And she's the dumb one that can't catch!"

"Don't call your sister dumb." Cody scolded. "And why on earth would you think throwing a baseball in the living room at 2:00 AM is okay for _any_ reason?"

"Oh, but you see Mommy, it wasn't in the living room." Brett said bashfully.

Cody's face suddenly became serious. "What window did you break?"

"Mommy." Isabel peered into Cody's bedroom, looking rather sheepish. "I think that we're gonna need a new oven."

**Wednesday**

"Mommy?" Cody's shoulders tensed as he heard Brett's voice behind him. The small boy had already had his bath, but had opted to stay in the bathroom while Isabel and Nessie took theirs. "What's a condom?"

Cody choked. "What's a what now?"

"Do you make balloon animals with it?" Brett continued. "Can I make a balloon animal, Mommy?"

Cody didn't want to think of his son's mouth anywhere near them. "No, sweetie, they're not for balloon animals."

Nessie clapped her little hands together, popping bubbles in her excitement. "I want a balloon animal, Mommy!"

"I'm sure that you do, sweetie. But condoms aren't for balloon animals." He wouldn't say what they _were_ for, and had simply intended to just leave it there, when…

"I know what they're for!" Isabel proudly proclaimed. "They're for sex!"

Cody choked again. "How do you even know what that word means?"

"I heard it on TV. Mommy was watching one of those special shows. There were a lot of naked people. It was weird." Isabel noticed the dark crimson color coming over Cody's cheeks. "Is something wrong, Mommy?"

"Who wants ice cream?" Cody asked, looking at them with hopeful eyes.

"ICE CREAM!" The collective shout resounded in the bathroom. Crisis averted.

**Thursday**

"Do I even want to ask?" Cody asked, looking down at his toilet-paper clad three-year-old daughter. She stared up at him with teary eyes, about to break into tears. "Did you siblings make a toilet-paper mummy out of you?"

"She isn't a toilet-paper mummy. That's so first grade, Mommy." Brett huffed.

"She's our work of art." Isabel said. She motioned to her toilet-paper clad sister. "Isn't she pretty?"

"I think that the last time you tried to make your sister into a work of art, we had to shave her head." Cody said.

"That was only a technicality." Brett's botched pronunciation of 'technicalities' was adorable. "She wasn't supposed to stick her hands in her hair. That was her fault."

"Just like the hole in my oven is Isabel's fault?" Cody asked.

"Exactly!" Brett exclaimed. "And what would our mummy princess be without her wig!" Brett pulled a blond wig out from behind his back – one of the wigs that had been stored under his parents' bed – and put it on her head.

"Do I even want to know?" Cody asked sullenly.

"Nope." Brett and Isabel shook their heads, and Cody believed them.

**Friday**

In the world filled with evil and crime,  
You held my hand and stood by my side.  
With your words you wiped away all my tears  
You taught me how to face the world without any fear.  
It may be not a big deal for you, but it meant a alot to me  
I will never forget it; an angel for me, you will always be.  
Two little words - Thank you! ~ Anonymous

Cody stared down at the note, a small smile appearing on his face. "You didn't have to do this for me, you know. You didn't have to say thank you. I know that you mean it."

Damian smiled, snaking his arms around Cody's waist and drawing his husband close. "Yeah, but it doesn't hurt to be reminded every now and then."

"Well, thank you, then." Cody smiled, letting Damian kiss him on the cheek.

"Now, c'mon, off to bed. You need to rest up to make sure that that baby is safe and healthy."

Cody looked absolutely exhausted, so he just let Cody lead him over to the bed. "I certainly am exhausted. You wouldn't believe the week that I had…"


	20. ChrisPhil 'Thunderstorms'

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anyone. The quote is by George Orwell.  
**Rated:** T  
**Warning(s):** Slash, High School AU, Fluff, Mentioned Past Abuse, etc.  
**Dedication:** coleypunk-y2j

* * *

The first violent cackle of thunder had Chris on his feet, his hair mussed and his eyes wild, and before the treacherous rumble ceased, he was out the front door of the townhouse that he shared with his father and out in the midst of the storm.

It was late. Hell, he wasn't even sure what time it was. Rain poured down around him, the patter of the droplets on the sidewalk like the sound of drums. The midnight-black sky was alight with the dance of sparkling yellow lightening. Another cackle of thunder. Without thinking, he was running. He had only one destination. He had only had one destination from the start. As the roll of thunder slowly died away, he turned the corner and stumbled onto Main Street. He was only a block away now…

Finally, he was forced to stop at a street light. The glare of the red 'No Crossing' sign glared at him in the darkness. He was so close, so very close, and he couldn't stand there and risk the ten seconds it would take for the light to change. The storm was getting closer, the thunder louder. Chris could almost _see_ him in his room, locked away in his closet, his headphones pumping music into his frazzled brain. He hated thunderstorms… he hated them with a passion.

Not that he would ever admit to the fact that he could be afraid of them, terrified even. To him, fear was all in the mind. But he had a negative association with thunderstorms, and while Chris didn't know exactly _what_ it was, he did know that it reduced his boyfriend to a crying (not crying, you idiot – my eyes are watering, that's all), shivering mess. And he knew that that was enough of a reason to brave the worsening storm. Chris needed to be there for him. And he _would_ get there.

The light changed and the red 'No Crossing' sign turned to green. He took off in a sprint, not even bothering to check if traffic had come to a complete stop – he was lucky that it had. The fresh rainwater splattered all over him as he jogged, occasionally sending up flecks of mud to stain his jeans. Another bout of thunder, this time closer, louder. He swallowed hard, pushing himself harder. Best put all of those years on the spring track team to good use…

Chris took the next left, and then made an immediate right. The rough concrete gave way to the subtle rumble of gravel beneath his feet. The small stones got stuck in the grooves of his tattered sneakers and started to push through the flimsy material of the soles, but he didn't care. Diving under the low-rising roof of some old man's shed, which protruded out into the alleyway, he continued down. Only a little bit longer, and then he would be with him.

Finally, just when burning acid was charging through his veins, he stumbled onto their back porch. All of the lights were off – what else had he been expecting at such an odd hour? The only identifying feature on the house were the windmills that he had helped his little sister, Selene, make. They twirled in the storm, which threatened to tear them right out of the ground. For a minute, he stood under the comfort of the awning. The shelter from the rain was much appreciated.

Looking around, he had never been more thankful that his boyfriend had a bedroom on the first floor. Slowly, he walked over to the window, carefully sliding off the porch. He tested the window, finding it to be unlocked. So, he was expecting him. He certainly spoiled his boy rotten. He cracked the window open a bit further and slid inside, almost stepping on his love. Hurriedly, the smaller boy inched away and allowed him inside, and Chris shut the window.

* * *

"Oh, my poor baby. You look awful! How long have you been sitting here?" Chris asked. Phil shuddered, before Chris hooked an arm around his shoulder and drew him into a warm embrace.

Phil only stared at his mouth, unable to hear him over the music blasting in his ears. Still, it was impossible to drown out the sound of the thunder in the distance. The thunder – so loud, so threatening…

Carefully, Chris pulled the earbuds out of his baby's ears. "Philly." He purred softly. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. Were you scared?" He asked worriedly.

Phil scoffed, though the lie was clear in his eyes. "Me? Scared of a little thunder? It can't hurt me. It can't -,"

He broke off when the thunder cackled again. Chris felt the younger boy grow stiff in his arms, so without waiting for Phil to finish his sentence, he simply scooped him up and drew him in to his chest. His shirt started to grow wet with Phil's tears, but he would never bring up the fact that Phil was crying. No, he wasn't actually crying. His eyes were just watering, that was all. He would get ahold of himself in a few minutes. Everything would be fine.

Slowly, he started to rock him back and forth. He whispered sweet nothings into Phil's ear, promises that never needed to be uttered aloud, that were just given, and words that needed to be said. He told Phil that he loved him, because he needed to know that. Not that he could ever doubt it with the way Chris held him, rocking him to and fro, slathering his head and cheeks and entire _body_ in kisses… he just couldn't stop touching him.

"You know what, Phil? It's okay to admit that you're afraid. I won't use it against you. I won't do what _he_ did. Phil…" he trailed off, drawing back to look in the ravenette's eyes, "I promised I would never hurt you, and I _meant_ it."

Phil sniffled, his eyes swollen and red-rimmed. "I know. You wouldn't lie to me."

"Then you want to tell me the truth about how long you've been sitting here?" Chris asked.

Phil drew in a harsh breath, before allowing his eyes to meet Chris'. "Three hours." He breathed. "I've been…" he showed Chris his IPod, "I've been listening to the same song on repeat. It's the song that you… that you…"

Chris looked at the title, feeling a rush of memories flood back. "I know, baby, I know. Shh, it's okay…"

"But it's not okay! It's not and it never will be! I'll never be normal or perfect or anything else you deserve!"

Chris' eyes widened, shocked by Phil's sudden declaration. "Since when did I ever ask you to be perfect?"

Phil sniffled. "You've never _asked_ me to be perfect. That doesn't matter. You just… you constantly call me perfect, and it kills me because I'm not! I'm broken and I hate that I'm not perfect enough for you!" He screamed.

"Shh…. Hush now, baby. You're gonna wake your Mom and she can't know I'm here, baby." Chris said.

Phil's Mom wasn't exactly fond of Chris. It wasn't that she didn't like him, but she had found out that they were having sex and wouldn't have him in her house _corrupting_ her little boy. She didn't know that Phil had already been corrupted in manners far worse, and that Chris had absolutely no intention of _ever_ hurting his baby. Chris only wanted to hold him and love him like he deserved. But he would follow Mrs. Brooks' orders – for now.

Phil eventually calmed himself down… for the most part. His crying was down to the occasional hiccupping sob, and as he swooned in Chris' arms, he rubbed at his eyes with one balled-up fist. He hated to think of himself as weak, or let anyone else think that he was weak, but he felt that was the aura he was giving off now. Fearing the worst at Chris' silence, he tried to pull back. Chris, however, would have none of that. He wasn't in the mood for that.

"You know, a wise man once said "The essence of being human is that one does not seek perfection". And you know what? I think that he was right." Chris said.

Phil shot him an uncertain look. "Are you… Are you saying…" the thunder cackled in the distance. He shivered.

"Yeah. Phil, I don't want perfection. Perfection is an unattainable dream. But you? You're as close to perfection as someone like me will ever get. And I love you. I love _us_. I would never risk that for some stupid dream."

"You're such a stupid romantic." Phil teased. Some of the malice was lost with his eyes still being puffy.

Chris smirked, "But you love me anyway."

And even through the newly budding tears, Phil couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I do."


	21. ChrisPhil 'Whipped Cream'

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anyone.

**Rated: **M

**Warning(s): **Slash, Food Play, etc.

**Dedication: **Della-doll

* * *

"You know, it might be nice if you actually saved some of that for the ice cream. Just saying." Chris watched as his lover gnawed on the whip cream nozzle, dragging it to the side with his teeth so that the sugary treat would squirt out.

"Aw. And where would the fun be in that?" Phil's tongue chased out to catch the little bit of whipped topping that had caught on his lip ring, smirking as Chris's eyes followed his every movement.

"That mouth of yours..." Chris trailed off, unable to finish that thought.

"Oh, yeah? You got something to say about this mouth of mine?" Phil asked, dragging his tongue over his sinfully plump lips.

"Yeah. It's gonna get you into trouble one of these days."

Phil looked down, taking into account the noticeable bulge in his lover's jeans. "I think that it already has."

Phil eased the nozzle back into his mouth, dragging down slowly and letting the sweet, fluffy treat flower over his tongue. It was a delight to the taste buds and his eyes slid closed in absolute pleasure. Chris watched, feeling that all-too-familiar eruption of butterflies in his stomach when Phil let out a soft little moan. Again, he set the can down and chased down every last drop of the precious treat with his tongue. After all, it would be a travesty for him to waste even a single drop.

Chris couldn't take it any longer. Rather unceremoniously, he snatched the can of whipped topping off for the counter and set it beside him. In a matter of seconds, he had his belt undone and his jeans unzipped. Pulling them down just far enough to reveal his aching, swollen manhood, he then took hold of the can of whipped topping and squirted a generous amount into it. He didn't miss the way that Phil teased his lips with a maddeningly slow caress of the tongue. The message had been received. It had been heard loud and clear.

Phil offered him a playful smirk, a teasing look in his eyes. "Why didn't you just say so in the first place?" He offered, before laughing softly.

"I didn't know that I had to say I wanted to have sex now."

"No, that's true. You always want to have sex."

"Hey!" Chris shouted indignantly. He even managed to look a wee bit offended. "I never hear you complaining!"

Phil bit down on the inside of his mouth to try and keep from laughing. "You're right. I never complain."

Without another word, Phil fell on his knees in front of his boyfriend and stared at the beautifully adorned cock in front of him. He licked his lips as he contemplated all the deliciously dirty things he could do to the man's cock. Finally, he leaned forward, opening his mouth and taking the entire thing in at once. Chris moaned, throwing his head back in absolute ecstasy. The things his boy could do with his mouth were absolutely sinful. And he savored every minute of it. The time that they had together was incredibly rare. Their story lines didn't cross anymore, so it was a wonder how they got any time alone at all - without drawing suspicion, that is.

To most of the world, Chris was still reeling from a horrible break up with his wife of several years, Jessica. Only a few close friends in the business actually knew the truth. Chris and Phil had been an item for awhile now. Chris didn't even remember how long. Phil was always better at remembering special dates and stuff. He was happy with Phil, but Vince wasn't sure if the world was ready to accept homosexuality in the wrestling business. In other words, they had his blessing, so long as they kept their relationship on the down-low.

"What are you doing? Making a shopping list up there?" Phil asked, pulling off with a resounding pop.

Chris chuckled. It was dry and laced with arousal. "Nah. Where would the fun be in that?" He chuckled again.

Phil went back to work, hollowing out his cheeks to make his mouth into a hot, moist cavern. Humming low in the back of his throat, he started to bob his head back and forth. He swirled his tongue over the engorged length, making sure that he swallowed every drop of whipped topping that had been slathered over Chris's manhood. Reaching forward with his left hand, he fondled his boyfriend's balls in his firm grasp whilst the other hand braced his body from stumbling forward. It wouldn't do to just fall, and he didn't want to choke either.

Chris mumbled faint expletives beneath his breath, holding onto Phil's hair as if it were his lifeline. He was so... fucking... close. He was so close he could taste it. Could feel it burning low in his belly, coiling like a snake getting ready to strike. Phil's tongue slowly laved over the head, dipping into the slit and drawing the most delicious moan from Chris' pretty mouth. The pure euphoria of sensation that he felt was little less than marvelous. He started mumbling beneath his breath, clutching at Phil's hair that much harder as he started to fuck his boy's mouth viciously.

Phil groaned, working overtime to try and control his gag reflex. The groan was what did Chris in. Locking his fingers in Phil's now-tangled mess of silky, gel-covered locks, he finished in the boy's mouth. Phil, like the good pet that he was, took all that Chris had to offer, not wanting to waste a single drop. It still had faint traces of the whipped topping flavor lingering within it. With a wet popping sound, Phil pulled off and carefully tucked his boyfriend back into his pants. Chris was a little light on his feet and had to hold on to the counter for support.

Phil took the bottle of whipped topping, meaning to help himself to a little treat before they finished the sundaes. However, he was dismayed to find the can empty. "Chris." He whined. "We need more whipped cream."

Chris only laughed and kissed his boyfriend on the nose. "I love you, you know that?"

Phil would never admit to the blush that chased across his cheeks. "I love you too." He even had a tiny little smile. But then, "Now go buy me more whipped cream!"

Chris broke down into another fit of laughter. "Right away, your highness."


End file.
